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He has stolen a botanical specimen from my yard, Squire ! 


LOOK ALIVE 


STORIES OF SOME WIDE- 
AWAKE YOUNG PEOPLE 


By 

Amos R. Wells 

Author of “ T^o-Minute Talks ^ " etc. 


AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 
150 NASSAU ST. NEW YORK 


Ui#.-<ArtY of CONCRESS 
I wo Uooles Received 

OCT 9 ' sor 



Copyright, 1907, 

By American Tract Society 


PREFACE 


The young folks in these stories are all such 
as I have known; the scenes are those of my 
own boyhood. Every story has a lesson hid- 
den away in it; but it is told for the sake of 
the story as well as the lesson, and I hope my 
readers will enjoy both. 

One-third of these stories appear now for 
the first time. For permission to use the re- 
mainder in book form I am grateful to the 
following: Harper and Brothers, The Out- 
look, The Independent, The Sunday School 
Times, and The Interior. 

Amos R. Wells. 


Boston, Mass. 







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CONTENTS 


\ 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Purple Beech . . 7 

IL Riding the Elevator Bare- 

back . . . .26 

III. “Those Thievish Siden- 

STICKSES ” . . -32 

IV. The War of the Clothes- 

lines . . . -43 

V. Making a Place for Her- 
self • • • • 53 

VI. The Coasting on Clapper’s 

Hill .... 68 

VII. The “Wild West” Messen- 
ger-Boy . . *75 

VIII. A Lawn-Mower Reforma- 
tion . . . . 82 

IX. Rum and Molasses . . 96 

X. Habberton’s Bashfulness . 105 

XL Fortunate Pothooks . 117 

XII. Ronald Thurber, Gymnast 135 


I 

THE PURPLE BEECH 

I SUPPOSE the boys and girls of the 
Milford public schools ought to have 
studied botany as well without a prize 
as with one. Perhaps, with enthusiastic teach- 
ing, that might have happened. I have my 
doubts. 

Anyway, a prize had been offered, a prize 
of ten glorious books on natural history. Mr. 
Rollins had offered the prize, for he was very 
fond of studying plants and animals, and he 
was also very fond of children. He wanted 
to Introduce his two sets of friends to each 
other, and that Is why he proposed the contest. 

The prize was to be given to the scholar. 
In any grade, boy or girl, who, by the middle 


81 


Look Alive! 


of June, should hand to the principal of the 
Milford schools, Mr. Sartain, the neatest, 
fullest, and most accurate collection of named 
leaves of trees. Books on trees were placed 
In Mr. Sartaln’s room, where any one might 
look at them after school hours, and they were 
always surrounded by an eager crowd, though 
the names of the commoner trees were soon 
discovered. 

It was a fascinating pursuit. “ Why,” said 
Josle Simmons, with a jolly laugh, “ to think 
that there are more than a hundred different 
trees In Milford — trees and bushes. I used 
to think there were just two, oak and maple ! ” 

“0-o-oh! You must have known peach, 
and pear, and — and elm,” cried Tom Wilson. 

“ No, I didn’t, really,” answered Josle. “ I 
coruldn’t have told them off the tree, anyway.” 

As usual In such a contest, two of the 
scholars, by superior zeal and Industry, forged 
to the front and soon distanced the others. 
All the scholars were admiring — and envying 
— the collections of Dorothy Benson and 
Frank Maynard. 

The two were neck-and-neck In the race. If 
Dorothy found a privet, Frank would discover 


9 


The Purple Beech 

the spice-bush. Dorothy brought in the black 
gum, and Frank the Kentucky blue ash. 
Dorothy added the wild plum to her collec- 
tion, and Frank triumphantly waved at her 
the black haw. Each of them had passed the 
one-hundred mark. 

Another reason why they were neck-and- 
neck was their unselfishness. They made no 
secret of their discoveries. The entire school 
was sent trooping to the Kentucky blue ash on 
the Carson road. Mrs. Barnard’s lemon-tree 
was fairly stripped of leaves as the result of 
Dorothy’s announcement of her find. When 
Frank made sure that his hornbeam was the 
hornbeam, he at once told Dorothy where it 
grew. 

But as the time for the prize drew near, 
both Frank and Dorothy became anxious, and 
perhaps a little reluctant to disclose the origin 
of their latest discoveries. It was going to be 
so very close. And already several others 
were pressing them hard. 

One day a buzzing group gathered around 
Dorothy. They were bending their heads 
over something she held in her hand, and their 
tongues were wagging fast. 


lo Look. Alive! 

“ Oh I Where did you get it ? ” 

“WhataZ^^^^z/y/’^ 

“ It’s the handsomest leaf I ever saw.” 

“ Wliere did it come from ? ” 

“ I’m going to get one this very afternoon.” 

“What’s up?” asked Frank Maynard, 
walking swiftly toward the group. “ Has 
Dorothy made a new find? ” 

“ She has, indeed.” 

“ Purple beech ! ” 

“ Copper beech I ” 

“ Fagus something or other, we don’t know 
yet ! ” said May Halliday, who always liked 
to air her Latin. 

Frank looked at the leaf, lying on Doro- 
thy’s white little palm. It was truly a fine 
specimen, — elegant in outline, simple and neat, 
as all the beeches are, and then that strange, 
royal, purple-coppery color! It took Frank’s 
eye amazingly. 

“Where did you get it, Dorothy?” he 
asked at once. 

Dorothy hesitated. 

“ Don’t be mean,” Madge Hart piped up. 

“ Well,” said Dorothy, “ I got it from the 
Masons’ front yard. It’s off in the farthest 


II 


The Purple Beech 

corner, back of the big spruce. I just got a 
glimpse of it, and I thought it was something 
different, so I went in and asked for it.” 

“ O Dorothy I How did you ever dare? ” 

“ Didn’t Mr. Mason snap your head off? ” 

“You were in luck, to get anything out of 
him ! ” 

“ But I didn’t ask him,”* Dorothy explained. 

Mrs, Mason came to the door. She gave 
it to me right off, though she did say that 
Mr. Mason was very particular about his 
trees.” 

“ Particular! I should say so,” said Tom 
Wilson. “ Why, one day he saw me snipping 
a little bit of arbor vitae off that tree that 
hangs over the fence, and if I didn’t catch 
it! ” And Tom covered his ears as if the 
scolding still pounded against them. 

“ But that — why, that was stealing, Tom 
Wilson! ” Dorothy exclaimed. “ You should 
have asked him, and he would have given you 
some.” 

“ Don’t believe it a minute,” Tom replied. 
“ He’s the meanest man in town. Every one 
says so.” 

“ Anyway,” Frank declared, “ I’m going to 


121 Look Alive! 

ask him for a leaf of that purple beech — or 
her! 

Mrs. Mason was a pleasant-faced woman, 
as kind as her husband was selfish, and as jolly 
as he was cross. “ What a poorly matched 
couple ! ” every one said ; but really they were 
well matched for the good of the rest of the 
world, since Mrs. Mason did what she could 
to make Mr. Mason endurable. 

Frank was sent down town that very after- 
noon, as soon as he returned from school, and 
he peered longingly into the Masons’ front 
yard as he passed it. The space was full of fine 
trees, for Mr. Mason was an ardent naturalist, 
if any one so gruff could be called ardent. He 
lavished on his trees and flowers the kindness 
he should have shown also to human beings. 

Yes, there in the farthest corner, back of 
the big spruce, Frank caught a glimpse of 
purple leaves shining in the sun. It was a 
young tree, hardly four feet high. Certainly 
it was the only copper beech in that Ohio town. 
There are several there now, but at that time 
it was almost unknown in Milford. Dorothy 
surely had been lucky. 

Frank went on and did his first errand. As 


The Purple Beech 13 

he left the shop, he saw Mr. Mason opposite, 
also on his way down town. 

“ Just the chance ! ” said Frank to himself. 
“ Now I’ll hustle after that sugar and the 
mail, and call for the beech leaf on my way 
back, when the ogre is out. I do hope Mrs. 
Mason will be there.” 

So Frank made all haste to the grocery and 
the postoffice, and all haste away from them 
and up Main Street again to Mr. Mason’s. 
But, alas ! he had found the clerks all busy at 
the grocery, and he had not been able to get 
to the postoffice window without standing in 
line, so that Mr. Mason had reached his house 
first, and the ogre himself came to the door. 

Frank made the best of the situation. 

“ Please, Mr. Mason,” he said, taking off 
his cap respectfully, “ will you let me have a 
leaf of your purple beech? We school boys 
are making collections of leaves for a prize. 
Just one leaf. May I have it, please? ” 

“ No,” said Mr. Mason shortly. “ No, not 
a leaf. I won’t have a parcel of boys running 
here after my trees, and tramping all over the 
yard. I’m not going to strip my trees for your 
silly collections.” 


14 


Look Alive! 


Frank ventured one more plea. 

“ But Dorothy Benson got one. Mrs. 
Mason gave it to her. And Dorothy will get 
ahead of me.” 

“ Mrs. Mason won’t give any more leaves,” 
said Mr. Mason grimly. “ No use teasing. 
You can’t have it.” And he shut the door in 
Frank’s face. 

“ Mean old skinflint! ” Frank muttered to 
himself, as he went angrily down the front 
walk. 

“ Mean old skinflint I ” said all the boys and 
girls to whom he told his adventure the next 
day. 

“ That puts you one ahead of me, Doro- 
thy,” Frank admitted ruefully. “ And I’ve 
scoured the country. I don’t think there’s a 
tree left, or a bush, that you and I haven’t 
found.” 

“ It’s too bad! ” cried warm-hearted Doro- 
thy. “ I’m sorry, Frank. But I don’t think 
I could cut my beech leaf in two.” 

“ No,” laughed Frank. “ That wouldn’t 
help either of us very much.” 

Two days later, something unusual hap- 
pened. Frank received a package in the mail. 


15 


The Purple Beech 

It was marked: “ For Frank Maynard, Cen- 
tral Street,” in a cramped handwriting. 
Frank tore open the package in the postoffice. 

There, in tissue paper, between two sheets 
of heavy pasteboard, lay a leaf of the purple 
beech I 

“Well! Well! Well!” cried Frank. 
“ Mr. Mason must have changed his mind. 
He’s not so mean, after all. I’m sorry I said 
all I did against him. I guess, when he had 
a chance to think it over, he thought better 
of it.” 

“ Perhaps it was Mrs, Mason,” suggested 
Sam Taylor, looking on. 

Frank considered a minute. 

“ No, I don’t think it could have been. 
Mr. Mason wouldn’t have told her who it was 
that asked for the leaf, because he didn’t want 
her to give any more away. No, I believe 
this leaf came from the ogre himself. And 
he isn’t so much of an ogre, after all.” 

Frank’s mother heard the whole story as 
soon as he reached home. 

“ You ought to write a note to Mr. 
Mason,” she said, “ and thank him.” 

“ Why, yes; that would be decent,” Frank 


i6 


Look Alive! 


agreed. So he sat down at his ink bottle, and 
slowly penned this note : 

** Dear Mr. Mason: 

“ I got the purple beech leaf. Now my collection is com- 
plete. I am much obliged to you for your kindness. 

“Yours truly, 

“Frank Maynard.” 

When Mr. Mason, the next day, received 
this note and read it, he was in a great rage. 

“ The impudent little rascal I ” he almost 
shouted. “ To go and steal that leaf and then 
have the boldness to write and tell me about 
it. And twit me with my ‘ kindness ’ in that 
sarcastic way! You didn’t give him any leaf, 
Catharine? ” he asked with sudden suspicion. 

“Leaf? What leaf? To whom?” Mrs. 
Mason asked, in her turn. 

“ Why, you didn’t give that Frank May- 
nard a leaf from my copper beech, did you? 
After I told you not? ” 

“ No, certainly I did not. Though I do 
think you might have spared a single leaf, 
Charles,” Mrs. Mason ventured mildly. 

“ Then he stole it 1 I’ll have him arrested ! 
I will, as sure as ” 


The Purple Beech 17 

“Not for taking a leaf?” Mrs. Mason 
protested. 

“ Yes, for taking a leaf! The principle is 
the same as if he had stolen ten thousand 
dollars 1 ” 

Mr. Mason stormed off, and his wife looked 
anxiously after him. “ I do hope he won’t 
do anything that he’ll regret I ” she sighed. 

But what Mr. Mason did was to go straight 
to Bill Jones, the town constable, and order 
him to arrest Frank Maynard for theft. 

“For theft I That boy ? Frank Maynard ? 
Why, what has he stolen? ” 

Mr. Mason hemmed and hesitated. 

“ Never mind,” he said at last. “ You 
arrest him, and I’ll bring my charge before 
Squire Peabody.” 

Constable Jones grumbled, but he went 
with Mr. Mason to Frank’s house, where the 
two found Frank playing croquet with three 
others, — Tom Wilson, and Dorothy Benson, 
and Frank’s sister Lucy. 

They all looked up, astonished, as Mr. 
Mason and the constable entered the gate. 
They were still more astonished as the two 
men came toward them. 


i8 


Look Alive! 


“ You impudent wretch ! ” Mr. Mason 
cried. “ Constable, there’s the little thief! ” 

“ I’m sorry, Frank, my boy,” said Bill 
Jones kindly, “ but Mr. Mason, here, says 
you’ve stolen from him, and I s’pose you’ve 
got to go along er me to the Squire’s.” 

“Stolen!” Frank flushed angrily. “I 
haven’t stolen anything from anybody ! Ever ! 
What do you say I stole?” he asked Mr. 
Mason. 

“You know well enough, you rascal,” Mr. 
Mason replied. “ Come right along, if you 
know what’s good for you.” 

“ Where’s your ma? ” asked the constable, 
hoping for help from that quarter. Mr. May- 
nard had died several years before, but Mrs. 
Maynard was a woman of strong character, 
who could be counted upon to defend her boy. 

Frank’s sister was sobbing in a frightened 
way. “ She — isn’t — home,” said Lucy, be- 
tween her sobs. 

“ Then you’ll have to come right along, my 
boy,” said the constable firmly, laying his big 
hand on Frank’s shoulder. 

“ But Frank wouldn’t steal! ” Tom Wilson 
cried indignantly. 


19 


The Purple Beech 

“ He wouldn’t think of such a thing ! ” 
Dorothy put in. “ Why, you know he 
wouldn’t, Mr. Jones.” 

“ It’ll be explained, prob’bly,” the constable 
replied. “ He’ll come out o’ it all right, like’s 
not. Don’t you worry, children.” 

“ Anyway, we’ll go with you,” said Doro- 
thy, and the constable made no objection to 
the proposal. 

It was a sorrowful little group that filed Into 
Squire Peabody’s office, following Mr. Mason 
and Bill Jones, who still kept his hand on 
Frank’s shrinking shoulder. Lucy was weep- 
ing as if her heart would break, and Dorothy 
herself could not keep back the tears, while 
the faces of all the children were white and 
anxious. 

^‘Hal What’s all this?” And Squire 
Peabody looked up from his newspaper, peer- 
ing over his big-bowed spectacles. “ What 
have you here, constable? ” 

“ This boy,” said Bill Jones, slowly, “ Is 
Frank Maynard, and Mr. Mason, here, says 
he has stolen from him.” 

“A thief, eh? He’s beginning young. 
Your father, my lad, would have been greatly 


20 Look Alive! 

grieved. Fortunate for him he didn’t live to 
see this day.” 

“But I didn’t I” Frank burst out. “I 
never took a cent, from him or any one else.” 

“ Of course. Oh, of course ! ” The Squire 
had often heard such protestations. “ Just 
what is the charge, Mr. Mason? What has 
the boy stolen, and what proof have you? ” 

Mr. Mason grew red, but he spoke in a 
loud voice. 

“ He has stolen a botanical specimen from 
my yard. Squire. And he has admitted it him- 
self, in writing, over his own signature.” 

“A botanical specimen?” The Squire 
looked puzzled. 

“ A leaf, sir. A leaf from my copper beech. 
A rare tree, sir, the only one in town. I value 
it highly. This rascally boy came the other 
day, begging a leaf for his foolish ‘ collection,’ 
as he called it. I sent him about his business, 
and to-day I received an impudent letter from 
him telling me he had got the leaf, and mak- 
ing a sarcastic reference to my refusal.” 

“ But, Squire,” Frank broke in, eagerly, “ I 
didn’t mean that I had taken the leaf. It 
came to me, through the postoffice. And I 


21 


The Purple Beech 

thought of course Mr. Mason had sent It. 
So I wrote and thanked him for it.” 

“ A likely yarn,” sneered Mr. Mason. 
“ Squire, this boy deserves to be sent to jail. 
It’ll do him good. It’ll teach him a lesson. 
And it’ll teach a lesson to some of the other 
brats in town.” Here Mr. Mason looked 
fiercely at the other three children. 

Dorothy had listened to all this in amaze- 
ment. The Squire had begun to say, “ But, 
Mr. Mason, do you mean that he stole only 
a ” when Dorothy, forgetting her man- 

ners, interrupted him in a shrill little voice. 

“ Mr. Peabody ! Mr. Squire ! ” she cried. 
“ I know about this. I know all about this. 
I did it myself ! I mean, I was the one who 
sent Frank that leaf through the postoffice. 
It was my leaf, the one Mrs. Mason gave me. 
She will tell you that she gave it to me. And 
then, when Mr. Mason wouldn’t let Frank 
have any, I was so sorry for him that I sent 
him mine. I knew he wouldn’t take it if I 
gave it to him, so I sent it through the mail. 
I did, Mr. Squire. You can look in my collec- 
tion, and you will see the blank page where it 
was. Shall I bring it here, Mr. Squire? ” 


22 ! 


Look Alive! 


Mr. Mason’s face grew still redder as 
Dorothy was making this long speech. He 
began to see what a foolish mistake he had 
made, and he began to grow a little ashamed 
of himself. 

The Squire spoke up, sharply. 

“ How’s that, Mr. Mason? What do you 
say to that, sir? ” 

Mr. Mason spluttered: “Well, if you’re 
going to believe everything that these children 


The Squire Interrupted him, with a severe 
air. 

“ Mr. Mason, that girl Is telling the truth. 
You know perfectly well that she Is. You 
have brought this charge on false grounds, 
sir, against an innocent boy. And, sir, I must 
say it, you have acted contemptibly all 
through. You ought to be ashamed of your- 
self, sir. You owe Frank an apology, but I 
don’t suppose you’ll be man enough to make 
it.” 

“Apology? Huh!” With that Mr. 
Mason strode from the Squire’s office. 

Mr. Peabody looked after him with a 
twinkle In his eye. 


23 


The Purple Beech 

‘‘ He has learned a lesson, Frank,” he said. 
“ He’s too proud to admit it, but he knows 
well enough that he’s made a fool of himself. 
Now run along, children. And if you see any 
rare leaves on your way through my front 
yard, you are welcome to them ! ” 

The four laughed, and thanked the jolly 
Squire, and then went back to Frank’s home; 
but they were too excited to finish their game 
of croquet, or do anything but talk about their 
adventure. 

They could hardly say enough against Mr. 
Mason, and every one to whom they told the 
story echoed their scorn of that mean-spirited 
man. All the townsfolk would soon have 
bent their wrath upon him, if it had not been 
for something that happened on the following 
day. The something was two neat little pack- 
ages that were passed out of the postoffice 
window, one addressed to “ Mr. Frank May- 
nard,” and the other to “ Miss Dorothy 
Benson.” 

Both packages contained fully a dozen rare 
varieties of leaves, each neatly labeled. 
There was the Japanese gingko, the coffee- 
tree, the cypress, and there were some so rare 


24 


Look Alive! 


that they had no common names, but solely 
the dignified Latin. 

And with the leaves were two letters from 
Mr. Mason. 

“ Please accept these,” the letters ran, “ as 
a little token of my contrition. I have been 
thinking matters over, and I see that I have 
been acting the bear, and the pig, and several 
other ugly animals. I am sorry, and want you 
to forgive me. And really, I shall be very 
grateful to you if you will prove your forgive- 
ness by bringing to my yard as many of your 
young friends as you will, and helping your- 
selves freely to the leaves on any of my trees. 
And I think that Mrs. Mason will have some 
lemonade and cookies ready for you, too.” 

The children accepted the invitation? Of 
course they did! And in after years, when 
the purple beech was a large, fine tree, Mr. 
Mason was fond of pointing to it, and saying 
that the tree was worth more to him than all 
the rest of his real estate put together, for it 
had saved his life. But he never would ex- 
plain what he meant. 

And you want to know about the prize, and 
who won it? There were two prizes, of ten 


25 


The Purple Beech 

volumes each, and Dorothy and Frank won 
them. Who gave the second prize was never 
positively known, but the boys and girls all 
suspected “ the Purple Beech Man,” Mr. 
Mason. 


II 


RIDING THE ELEVATOR 
BAREBACK 

I ’VE pulled up and down this elevator 
shaft, sir, as long as elevators have 
been. This is the first elevator put in 
in Boston, and one of the first in the country. 
Of course, it being a new-fangled thing, the 
company had to get a steady hand to run it, 
and they’ve kept all these years the steady 
hand they got then. The company know a 
good thing when they see it. 

Elevator getting rickety? iVo, sir. It was 
the best when we put it in, and it’s as good 
as the best now. Of course it might have 
mirrors and gilding and plush cushions and 
nonsense ; but for easy running and common- 
26 


Riding the Elevator Bareback 27 

sense and safety, give me this make every 
time. And that’s what the inspector says, 
too. 

Ever had any accidents? Say. That re- 
minds me. You write for the papers, and I 
have a yarn for you. It’s right in your line, 
and you may say I said it. Hold on. There’s 
a call from the fourth floor. Ride up, and 
I’ll show you the very fellow. 

There. Did you notice the chap setting 
type right in front of the door as you looked 
in? Well, that’s the fellow. That’s ’Tator; 
only he isn’t called ’Tator any longer. He 
was called that, short for Imitator, and be- 
cause whatever he saw any one doing he was 
set to do too, no matter what it was. 

When he first came, we had a little scamp 
in the printing-office up there called Sam. 
Sam was up to anything. I never set eyes 
on a meaner fellow than Sam. I used my 
influence with the company to get him ousted; 
but that was after it happened. 

I don’t see how Sam set any type, he was 
around so much, cutting up, nor how the fore- 
man let him run loose so. Slack fellow, that 
foreman. We put in a better one the other 


281 


Look Alive! * 


day. But Sam cut up his greatest monkey- 
shines at noons going out to dinner, or else 
I saw more of him then. 

Here’s one thing he used to do. He’d put 
in a bent wire, and open the shaft door on the 
second story while I was on the first. Then 
he would get out on the top of the elevator, 
and ride up, slipping out at the sixth story. 
Those fool boys on the sixth floor — packing 
room, you know — would whoop and yell as 
if he had done something smart. He called 
that riding the elevator bareback. 

Sam liked to wait until the girls in the fold- 
room were coming up. Then he would sneak 
up to the second floor, get on the elevator like 
a flash, and as we were going up, he’d drum 
with his heels as if the roof was coming in 
and the whole thing going to smash. The 
first time he did that one girl fainted — fainted 
dead away. 

And when ’Tator came, Sam soon saw his 
weakness. He almost worshiped Sam. He 
watched him, everything he did, with his 
mouth open. I hate to see that in a boy. 
But I’d never have guessed what happened. 

I found out afterward that ’Tator, being 


Riding the Elevator Bareback 29 

a regular brag, had said that he could ride 
the elevator bareback as well as Sam, and 
Sam had dared him to do it. Well, Sam 
opened the door one day up on second, and 
he was going to play one of his fool antics, 
when ’Tator says, says he, “ Let me get on.” 
And there were a lot of those looney boys 
around, so Sam winked at them, and that 
made ’Tator mad; so he pushed Sam aside, 
and got out on the elevator roof himself, 
and the boys all scampered up to the sixth 
story to see ’Tator out and hear the girls 
screech. 

I’d got up to the third story, or maybe 
the fourth, when I began to see what was up. 
There was an awful thumping around on top, 
and screaming, and rattling of doors. I 
found out afterwards that ’Tator didn’t know 
how to open the doors from the inside. The 
locks do work a little stiff, and there’s a knack 
to them that you have to have. Sam could 
fling them open like a flash, but ’Tator only 
fumbled, and howled as he saw the top of the 
shaft getting near. 

I thought it was Sam. Of course I thought 
it was Sam. What else was there to think? 


30 


Look Alive! 


So when I came near the sixth story I put 
the old machine through in a vicious way. I 
wanted to make him scramble for it that time. 

But just as I got to the top there was a yell 
that I knew never came from Sam’s throat, 
and I heard an awful crash of breaking glass, 
and then my heart leaped up in my mouth. 
Some one had been crushed up against the 
skylight, I looked to see the blood oozing 
through the elevator. 

Sam’s face stared in through the grating 
of the door. He was white as a sheet. “ It’s 
’Tator! it’s ’Tator!” cries Sam. “Open 
the door! ” cries Sam. And I did it, though 
I didn’t think why I did it a bit. “ Now go 
down one story,” cries Sam; and I did, and 
I could hear Sam getting out on the top of the 
elevator. “ Go up slow,” cries he. 

You may guess that I did go slow. I didn’t 
want to crush another boy up against those 
wheels and pulleys and that skylight. Ugh I 
I can feel it yet. 

Then I could make out Sam’s pulling ’Tator 
out of that — out of the wheels and the pulleys 
and the big hole he had made in the skylight. 
“Now go down one story,” calls Sam, sort 


Riding the Elevator Bareback 31 

of faint. And so he got him out into the 
packing-room. 

What a time we did have bringing him 
to I You see, he was hit about the head, and 
stunned and bloody, and his clothes and face 
all torn with the broken glass. I never saw a 
fellow so used up as Sam was, either. I will 
say that for him, the scamp. 

Oh, of course he got all right again. Didn’t 
I show him to you just now in the composing- 
room? We don’t call him ’Tator any more. 
That experience kind of drove it out of him, 
name and nature. Ah I good-morning, Mr. 
B ro wnlo w. Go ing up ? 


Ill 

“THOSE THIEVISH SIDEN- 
STICKSES” 

O NE perfect day in late August a party 
of seven, weighted with numerous 
bundles, clambered slowly and pain- 
fully up a very steep, high hillside in south- 
eastern Ohio. The party was led by a tall 
and dignified lady, who wore eyeglasses. On 
top of the hill was a meadow, back of which, 
in a clump of trees, stood the rough little 
frame house belonging to Uncle Saul Siden- 
sticks. 

From the six children of various sizes who 
followed her the dignified lady singled out 
the oldest boy. “ Come, Fred, and go with 
32 


'' Those Thievish Sidenstickses 33 

me. Fm almost afraid to interview them 
alone, if they’re such disreputable folk.” 
And together the two crossed the meadow 
to the little frame house. An old colored 
woman, jolly and fat, came to the door, and 
promptly asked them in. “I am Mrs. Wil- 
liam Morgan,” said the lady with the eye- 
glasses, calmly disregarding the invitation, 
“ and am here with my family from the city. 
We want the privilege of spending the day 
sketching and painting from your meadow, 
and will pay you two dollars for It.” 

“Jes’ for settin’ in the meadder? Oh, 
pshaw, missus I Sit thar an’ welcome ! We 
rents that meadder to cattle, but not to 
folks! ” 

“Ah, but I insist.” And Mrs. Morgan 
laid two silver dollars on the table with an air 
of command. “ And I suppose all our pos- 
sessions will be safe out there? ” 

“Safe, missus? Why, ob co’se. They 
ain’t no other fam’ly on this side the glen 
fer a long ways. But I don’ want yo’ money, 
mum.” 

“ That is well. Good-morning,” said Mrs. 
Morgan, turning away with the air of a queen. 


Look Alive! 


34 

leaving the old colored woman in the door- 
way. 

“ Fools an’ their money’s soon parted,” 
growled Aunt Sally Sidensticks, as she put the 
two coins into a cigar-box, which she hid again 
under the bureau. 

“ That was tremendously sly, mother,” 
said Fred, admiringly, as they recrossed the 
meadow to the waiting group on the other 
side. “ How skillfully you let her know that 
the two dollars were security for our belong- 
ings! But she didn’t look at all like a thief.” 

“ You never can tell,” answered Mrs. Mor- 
gan. “ Every person about the hotel gave 
these Sidenstickses that character. Thieves, 
they said, the entire lot of them.” 

The meadow became straightway a scene 
of great activity. A wide-open tent of gay 
colors was set up by the two boys at the very 
edge of the hill. Under it were placed three 
camp-chairs, three easels, and three sets of 
artist’s tools, and when all was done, “ Now, 
mother and girls,” said Fred, “ enter the 
temple of art. If this view doesn’t inspire 
you, you are non-inspirable 1 ” 

The landscape which the three artists 


Those Thievish Sidenstickses ” 


35 


sought to transfer to their academy board 
was one of the loveliest imaginable — one of 
the deep and broad ravines through which 
the Little Miami finds its serene way to the 
Ohio — a valley heavily wooded with oak, 
hickory, and walnut, while over the tops of 
the trees which rose like a crowded amphi- 
theater of boughs on the opposite side, the 
classic towers of an honored college stood out 
against the blue sky. 

“ Mamma,” said the two little boys, ap- 
pearing, each with a tin pail, under the shade 
of the gay tent, “ what shall we do with this 
milk? It’ll spoil out here in the heat.” 

“ I’ll tell you, boys! ” said Fred. “ I saw 
a spring on the way up. Accompany me, 
young gentlemen ! ” And he strode off pom- 
pously, followed by his laughing brothers. 

The meadow was bounded on one side by 
a rocky cliff, at whose foot the coldest of pure 
water filled a stone basin, and rippled from 
that down a steep, cress-filled course to the 
valley. Fred sank the pails in the trans- 
parent water, saying as he did this, “ It is 
to be sincerely hoped that those thievish Sid- 
enstickses will not find this milk.” 


36 


Look Alive! 


“ Sh — h ! ” whispered one of the little boys, 
and Fred turned to see a small colored urchin 
standing with a tin pail, quietly waiting for 
him to get through. 

“ They ain’t no thieves ! ” said the small 
black boy, indignantly. ‘‘ I’m a Sidensticks I ” 
On which burst he marched off with as much 
dignity as a small boy with bare feet could 
muster. 

On his return Fred told the story to 
his mother somewhat shamefacedly. “ Dear 
me ! ” said Mrs. Morgan, “ I hope they won’t 
take revenge. These thieves are ugly char- 
acters. Keep an eye on the boys, Fred.” 

The small colored boy marched straight 
to the plain little board house back of the 
meadow. “Mar! Mar!” he cried, almost 
weeping, and stuttering in his excitement, 
“ these stuck-up city people b’lieve we steal 1 
I heerd ’em say so I ” 

“ Steal I ” And Aunt Sally held up two 
floury black hands. “ Steal 1 The Lord for- 
gib ’em! That highty woman hinted ’bout 
thieves when she gave me the money, but to 
think that she hinted at we-uns! I’d jes’ like 
to throw that money into her pompous face ! 


Those Thievish Sidenstickses 37 

But no, no — um. Le’s see. I do b’lieve I’ll 
heap some coals from the fire on ’em! You, 
Pete, go call yo’ paw frum the fiel’. Hey, 
Marthy, Tildy, come here, you girls! ” 

Then qnsued a conference of the Siden- 
sticks family which was evidently highly en- 
tertaining. Uncle Saul sat down on a bench 
in order to laugh with greatest ease. Pete 
rolled over on the floor in delight. Marthy 
and Tildy sent out avalanches of giggles. 
Then came a mysterious scattering. Uncle 
Saul to the fields, the girls and Aunt Sally 
to the kitchen, and Pete, creeping through the 
underbrush, toward the campers on the 
meadow. 

In the meantime Fred had set their large 
dinner-basket in the midst of a shady thicket 
of junipers, and with the brother next in 
age had descended to the river, over which 
their fishing-poles were patiently extended. 
The small boys, taking two shawls belonging 
to the girls, one bright red and one blue, had 
fashioned Indian tents by throwing these over 
bushes, and were making the meadow ring 
with their war-cries. The artists were en- 
thusiastically covering their academy board. 


Look Alive! 


38 

and were at their wits’ end to represent all 
the beautiful varieties of green spread out 
before them. 

“Where are the small boys?” suddenly 
asked Bess Morgan. “ I haven’t heard a 
whoop for several minutes.” 

“ In ambuscade, probably, or off on a hunt,” 
replied Bell, peering around the corner of 
the tent. “ But their wigwams are gone. 
They have struck camp. Oh, no I there they 
are I ” she cried, as two vigorous shouts arose 
and the small boys dashed up over the cliff, 
swinging the bent sticks which represented 
tomahawks, and rushing toward the bushes 
which had been their former abode. They 
stopped short, however, seeing the shawls 
gone. 

“What have you done with our tents. 
Bell?” they called indignantly. 

“Tents? Shawls? Nothing!” answered 
Bell, coming outside, palette in hand. 

“Those lovely shawls gone? Boys, boys, 
what made you leave them ! ” mourned Bess, 
emerging with her mother. 

“ Oh, those thievish Sidenstickses I ” 
groaned Mrs. Morgan. “ But there’s Fred. 


Those Thievish Sidenstickses 39 

Maybe he’s played some trick on you. Fred, 
have you taken those shawls the boys were 
playing with?” 

Fred and Paul came slowly up from below, 
fishing-rods in hands, and mournful frowns 
on faces. “ Shawls I What would I want 
of shawls? ” Fred growled. “ Have you 
seen anything of our fish? We had a nice 
string, some good large ones, and tied them 
to the bank while we went to try another 
place, and when we came back, of course 
they were gone I Those thievish Sidenstickses 
will have a fish dinner. Til warrant ! ” 

“ Isn’t it time for our dinner? ” broke in 
the boys. “ We’re hungry as bears.” 

“ Well, I’ve a good mind to send, an officer 
over here with a search-warrant just as soon 
as we get back to the hotel I” said Mrs. 
Morgan, determinedly. ‘‘ Get the basket, 
Fred. We might as well have dinner. Boys, 
run down after the milk, and bring up a 
pail of water, too. Girls, spread the cloth 
under that elm-tree, so that we can keep this 
magnificent view before our eyes I ” 

So they scattered in various directions, but 
it was not long before the small boys came 


40 


Look Alive! 


running back, sputtering, “ The milk’s stolen I 
Those mean, sneaking Sidenstickses ! ” 

And from the juniper copse came Fred 
and Paul, wildly shouting ahead of them the 
news, ‘‘Famine! Famine! The dinner’s 
gone I ” 

Mrs. Morgan felt faint, and moved to sit 
down on a camp-stool. Lo ! they were gone, 
stolen fairly before her very eyes, out from 
under the tent ! 

“ This Is too much ! ” she cried, energet- 
ically. “ Boys, take down this tent. Girls, 
pack up the brushes. Fred, you can go faster 
— run to the village and send the marshal 
over here just as quick as you can 1 These mis- 
erable, thievish ” 

Will you walk out to dinner^ mum?^^ 
said Aunt Sally, demurely coming toward 
them from a thicket of hazel. 

“ You abominable, sneaking ” 

“ Will you step this way, mum? I’ll show 
you the way, mum. This way, mum. Look 
out fo’ yo’ head with that thorn-branch. Miss. 
Be keerful not to touch that poison-vine, little 
boys. This way, this way, mum. Come on ! 
Don’ you be afeered. An’ here we be ! ” 



“Will you walk out to dinner, mum ? ” 





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** Those Thievish Sidenstickses ” 41 

The Morgans followed as if in a dream, 
as Aunt Sally led the way to a near thicket, 
and, by a short path through dense under- 
brush, to a little oak-shaded clearing, in the 
center of which was a table nicely spread, 
and crowded with smoking viands! There 
was a platter of tempting brown fish. There 
were plates heaped high with ears of corn. 
There were bowls of succotash, a pitcher of 
milk, two crisp pies, great stacks of fresh 
bread, and a mold of golden butter. Coffee 
steamed from a tin coffee-pot. In the center 
of all loomed up an enormous watermelon. 
The edges of the table were decorated with 
two gay shawls, nicely festooned, and about 
the whole were placed four wooden chairs 
and three camp-stools I 

‘‘ Haw, haw, haw! ’’ roared a little colored 
boy. “ Te, he, he, he!” tittered two little 
colored girls. “ Ho, ho, ho! ” chuckled Un- 
cle Saul from a stump, while Aunt Sally stood 
with her arms folded, and laughed only with 
her eyes. 

“ What, who, why — er ” said Mrs. 

Morgan. 

“ What in the ” 


began Fred. 


421 


Look Alive! 


“Jolly I’’ said the small boys; “see that 
melon I ” 

“ Sit right down I ” said Aunt Sally, heart- 
ily. “ You didn’t s’pose, ma’am, I hope, that 
I was goin’ to take yo’ two dollars an’ not 
do nothin’ fer it I Why, that ’ud be as bad’s 
stealin\f No, ma’am! Jes’ sit right down, 
all ob you ! ” 

Then Mrs. Morgan did something she had 
never done before in her life. “ Mrs. Siden- 
sticks,” said she, “ I hope you will sit down 
and eat with us ! ” 

“Oh, law no, missus! I an’ the girls ’ll 
wait on yo^/-uns. Pete, you go with your paw 
ter get some water. Sit right down. Take 
cream an’ sugar in yo’ coffee. Mis’ Morgan? ” 

Down they all sat but Fred. “ Where are 
you going? ” asked his mother, as he started 
off. 

“ To the village, as you told me to ! ” Fred 
answered, roguishly. 

“ Be seated, my son, and let us hear no more 
of that!” 


IV> 

THE WAR OF THE 
CLOTHESLINES 

T OO much cooperation among near 
neighbors is a dangerous thing. So 
Mrs. Murray and Mrs. O’Neil 
learned, to their sorrow. 

And yet, what else could they have done? 
It is a serious matter to be a washerwoman, 
and live in the fourth story of a tenement. 
When each moved in she was shown her 
clothesline, running over a pulley fastened 
outside her window, and across the alley to 
another pulley in an opposite window. 

Each room had two windows, and Mrs. 
Murray was told that the north clothesline 
was hers, while Mrs. O’Neil was put in pos- 
43 


44 ' 


Look Alive! 


session of the line connecting the windows 
to the south. One morning Mrs. Murray 
leaned from her window, as she was hanging 
out part of her last washing, and called to 
her neighbor over the way, who was doing the 
same: 

“ Mornin’ to ye. Me own name’s Mis’ 
Murray.” 

‘‘ An’ mornin’ to ye. I’m sure ; an’ I’m 
Mis’ O’Neil.” 

“ Glad to make your acquaintance. Mis’ 
O’Neil. D’ye know. Mis’ O’Neil, iver since 
I moved in I’ve been a-wantin’ to use the half 
o’ your clothesline that you can’t use.” 

“ Why, an’ me the same. Mis’ Murray, 
for I’ve often a big wash that I can’t begin 
to dhry on me one line, an’ the clothes get 
sour a-hangin’ indoor.” 

“ Well then. Mis’ O’Neil, ’f you’re agreed, 
you let me know when you’re ready to start 
out clothes on your line, an’ I’ll start at the 
same time on the other half of it, and you 
may do the same with mine, so we’ll make 
each line carry double.” 

Twice a day since then, and often three 
times a day, would sound across the alley a 


The War of the Clotheslines 45 

“ Re-e-eady, Mis’ Murray,” or a “ Re-e-eady, 
Mis’ O’Neil,” and then, in the midst of puff- 
ing clouds of steam, our laundry women 
would fill one clothesline, Mrs. Murray send- 
ing her clothes to Mrs. O’Neil, while Mrs. 
O’Neil, on the return half of the same line, 
was sending hers to Mrs. Murray. Next the 
other clothesline would be filled, and the flap- 
ping garments would gather in what sunshine 
and pure air they could from Skin Alley, until 
the next wash was ready. 

This arrangement soon ripened into a 
friendship, and many were the hearty bits 
of cheer, the secret confidences, and the merry 
whiffs of Irish banter, sent to and fro along 
the clotheslines. But, alas! were there ever 
two neighboring families, bound together by 
a clothesline or some less material tie, that 
never found the line somewhat strained, the 
bond tense and ready to break? Coopera- 
tion will be free from peril — in the millen- 
nium. 

One morning Mrs. Murray observed that 
her neighbor was rather reserved, and said 
very little, being intent on getting her clothes 
on the line with the greatest possible expedi- 


Look Alive! 


46 

tion. When she looked more carefully at 
those clothes Mrs. Murray gave a great start 
and her brow clouded darkly. 

There was no doubt about it, her neigh- 
bor’s washing was that of Mrs. Bentley, Mrs. 
Murray’s best customer. For here came the 
handerchiefs, big B’s in the corners. And 
no one could ever mistake that pillowsham. 
As the clothes jerked nearer Mrs. Murray 
she took up a handkerchief, examined it, and 
glanced sharply at her neighbor. But Mrs. 
O’Neil turned away. Thereat Mrs. Murray 
shut her window with a bang. 

That Mrs. Bentley had a right to change 
her washerwoman, that Mrs. O’Neil would 
never have sought the job, but the job must 
have sought her, all this Mrs. Murray never 
stopped to consider. “ The mean, shneakin’, 
underhand sarpint ! ” she kept saying to her- 
self, in her anger rubbing a big hole in the 
very center of Pearl Madison’s best hand- 
kerchief. 

Now it happened that day that Mrs. Mur- 
ray wanted the clothesline unusually early in 
the afternoon. Probably her wrath had as- 
sisted her muscles. And when she was ready 


The War of the Clotheslines 47 

to take in the dry clothes from the lines Mrs. 
O’Neil was not. Indeed, Mrs. Murray, peer- 
ing with blazing eyes into the dirty windows 
opposite, could see nothing of her neighbor. 
“ Gone a-gaddin’. I’m not a-goin’ to wait on 
the likes o’ her.” 

With nerves trembling with excitement and 
passion Mrs. Murray began to pull in her 
clothes, viciously jerking the line through the 
pulleys, and of course knocking off, as the 
line went through, all of Mrs. O’Neil’s wash- 
ing. Down fluttered the Bentleys’ clothes 
into the unimaginable filth of Skin Alley. 
Dainty linen lay in reeking pools, decked 
garbage barrels, waved from dirty window 
shutters where it caught half way down, or 
flapped along the greasy fire escapes. 

Just as Mrs. Murray had secured her last 
garment, Mrs. O’Neil returned and saw at 
a glance what had happened. I shall not at- 
tempt to record the conversation that fol- 
lowed. Each woman was a mistress of the 
art vituperative, and every window within 
hearing distance soon held one or more eager 
auditors “ listening at Mis’ Murray an’ Mis’ 
O’Neil having it out.” It was indeed fortu- 


48 


Look Alive! 


nate that fifteen feet of four-story alley inter- 
vened between the contestants. 

From that day, as may well be imagined, 
there was no more partnership in clotheslines. 
Each woman was seriously inconvenienced, 
but each would sooner lose her stout right arm 
than propose cooperation again. Such would 
have been the condition of affairs to this day 
had it not been for Josie Murray. 

And who was Josie Murray? do you ask. 
She was Mrs. Murray’s niece, on a visit from 
the country; as pretty and lovable a piece of 
pink and white as you can well imagine. 

Now Mrs. O’Neil had a little daughter 
who was a cripple. She went stumping around 
on crutches, or sat, pale and with her eyes 
shut, in a padded chair. Her name was 
Mary. “ Good’s a ghost,” Mrs. Murray 
often said of her. 

Josie had not been in the tenement five min- 
utes before she spied her poor neighbor, and 
her warm Irish heart went out in sympathy 
to the cripple. But Mrs. Murray would per- 
mit no advances, telling Josie with many em- 
bellishments the history of the clotheslines. 
Nevertheless Josie pondered sorrowfully and 


The War of the Clotheslines 49 

long over the pallid face opposite, and at last 
hit on a plan of operation about which she 
discreetly said nothing. First, with her stubby 
pencil, she painfully printed this letter: 

“ Deer Mary I’m sory for you and I want 
you to hav mi dol haf the time so I send her 
to you her nam iz Margereet and you ma hav 
her evry affternoon from Josie.” 

Then, choosing a time when both her aunt 
and Mrs. O’Neil were out, she fastened Mar- 
guerite, dressed in her finest, to the end of 
Mrs. O’Neil’s clothesline. 

About two o’clock Mrs. O’Neil began to 
remove the clothes from the line to put out 
a second set. She was doing the work me- 
chanically, and did not notice the doll till she 
took hold of it. 

“ Saints preserve us ! ” she exclaimed, al- 
most dropping the doll as she removed the 
clothespins. “ What under the canopy’s 
this?” She read the note. She looked at the 
opposite window and saw a pink and white 
face all smiles, with two blue eyes dancing 
with delight. Josie nodded gayly, and what 
could Mrs. O’Neil do but nod back? 

For the rest of Josie’s visit the doll made 


50 


Look Alive! 


regular trips back and forth on the clothes- 
line. It was the first toy Mary had ever had, 
and the pleasure she took in it was something 
wonderful and pathetic. The little cripple 
sang to it, and danced it, and hugged it, and 
went through all manner of plays with it, 
now for the first time getting a glimpse of 
the happy childhood that she had never had. 
And Josie stood at her window and watched 
it all rejoicingly, while even Mrs. Murray cast 
a pleased glance over the way now and then, 
when Mrs. O’Neil was out. 

But the days quickly passed, and Josie must 
go back to the farm. She trembled with joy 
at the thought of father and mother and the 
children and all the dear farm animals, each 
one of the latter being known to her by its 
own name; but — what about the doll? This 
is what, — written more slowly than the first 
note, and kept over night, before Josie could 
quite make up her mind to send it: 

“ Deer Mary I am goin bac horn and I 
want you to hav Margereet bekas you ar 
sic and liv in the sitty good bi my deer Mary 
from Josie.” 

This note was carefully pinned to the be- 


The War of the Clotheslines 51 

loved doll, and all the doll’s clothes, except 
those it wore, were rolled into a neat bun- 
dle. The line chanced to be unoccupied, so 
over went the gift, Josie crying out as it 
reached the other side, “Mary! Mary! 
Here’s Marguerite, come to stay. Good-by, 
Marguerite dear. Be a good girl.” 

Well, that morning there was a flutter of 
happy industry across the way, for Mrs. 
O’Neil had two jobs to manage, her unfail- 
ing washing, and something else; something 
over which Mary was as merry as she. About 
noon, just as Josie was kissing her aunt 
good-by, while her big brother Ned, who had 
come for her, stood waiting for her with her 
little valise, bob ! bob ! bob ! over on Mrs. 
O’Neil’s clothesline came a covered basket, 
while Mary called shrilly from her window. 
And in the basket was a big apple turnover, 
and a marvelous cake, with white frosting 
on top, and with red frosting trimmings, while 
in the center waved a plume of green tissue 
paper. And on the cover of the basket was 
a slip of paper with these words : 

“ The turnover iz for Josies lunch and the 
cak for Mis Murray from Mis ONeil.” 


Look Alive! 


521 

That was at noon, and, after Josie had 
smiled and waved her thanks across the alley, 
and kissed her hand to her poor crippled 
friend, and kissed her hand to Marguerite, 
and kissed her aunt a score of times, and Ned 
had at last forced her to go lest they should 
miss the train, — after all this, Mrs. Mur- 
ray sat down to her lonely dinner and ate it 
very thoughtfully. 

The thoughtfulness continued as she 
washed the dishes, and even as she took the 
steaming clothes from the boiler and vigor- 
ously rubbed them in the suds and ran them 
through the wringer. And the result of all 
the thought was that, at two o’clock, when 
her clothes were ready to hang out, and her 
neighbor’s, as she could see, were also done, 
Mrs. Murray stuck her head out of the win- 
dow, and with an Irish twinkle in her black 
eyes called stoutly, as of old : 

“ Re-e-eady, Mis’ O’Neill ” 

In a trice the window opposite was raised 
and the answer pealed out : 

“ Re-e-eady, Mis’ Murray! ” 

And the war of the clotheslines was ended. 


V 

MAKING A PLACE FOR 
HERSELF 

I F you want to understand this story you 
must remember four things: (i) that 
Gordon & Co. and Saunders Brothers 
are two firms of furniture dealers opposite 
each other on Lincoln Street, and that, as 
might have been expected, they are bitter 
rivals. Furthermore, (2) you must remem- 
ber that Elizabeth Conway (otherwise 
“ Bess ”) is cashier for Gordon & Co.; that 
(3) Mr. Gordon and the Messrs. Saunders 
have been “ working ” for different candi- 
dates for the school board from Bess’s ward, 
each hoping to get the contract for furniture 
for the new school building; and (4) that 
53 


54 


Look Alive! 


Mr. Conway, Bess’s father, has felt obliged 
to oppose the election of Mr. Gordon’s man, 
as being ignorant and immoral. If you re- 
member these four things you may, for all 
I care, forget even the multiplication table. 

Bess came home one Saturday night with 
her big brown eyes flashing. That is some- 
thing very hard for brown eyes to do, espe- 
cially if they are big. 

“Father I” she cried, bursting in on the 
family as they were beginning the evening 
meal, “Father! Mother! Grace! Some- 
thing dreadful has happened! I’ve lost my 
position. Mr. Gordon has dismissed me.” 

“Dear me. Will! I was afraid of that. 
Why did you oppose Mr. Gordon about that 
school board? ” 

“ Why, wife dear, you wouldn’t have me 
work for that beast of a Dawson, would you ? 
And think of him in control of our Grace’s 
school ! ” 

“ But you needn’t have said anything. 
Why didn’t you leave it to some one else to 
oppose him — some one whose daughter had 
no position to lose ? And we need the money 
so much, these hard times.” 


Making a Place for Herself 55 

“ But, my dear, there was no one else that 
seemed to care, or to have a mind of his 
own.” 

Here Bess broke in. “ Father, / think you 
did just right, and mother will agree, I am 
sure, after she has got over my loss of my 
place.” 

“But now what are you going to do?” 
asked Mrs. Conway. 

“ Mother dear. I’m going to ‘ find a way, 
or make it,’ ” was the cheery reply. 

But for all this appearance of bravery, Bess 
spent a sadly worried Sunday. She tried hard 
not to “ let her heart be troubled,” but into 
all the happy services of the day crept mem- 
ories of the lost place, and thoughts of the 
dear household that needed so much every 
cent that could be brought into the family 
treasury. 

A dozen plans were canvassed in her mind, 
only to be dismissed as impossible. “ They 
say that women may take, nowadays, any 
place for which they have fitted themselves,” 
groaned our brown-eyed cashier; “ but what 
if the places are already filled? ” 

At last Bess had a bright idea. The more 


Look Alive! 


S6 

she thought of it the brighter it seemed, and 
the brighter grew her eyes. 

At the tea table Mrs. Conway remarked, 
“ Seems to me you are rather jolly, Bess, 
for one who has just lost her place.” But 
Bess replied: 

“ I have just found my place, Marmee, 
and I’m going to-morrow to ask permission 
to fill it. No one has ever been in it yet.” 

And that was all she would say about it. 

Bess was not half so confident Monday 
morning as she was the night before, and all 
her bravery oozed out of her nervously twitch- 
ing white fingers on the way down street. 

“ And to dare,” she said to herself, “ to 
dare to go to Saunders Brothers, of all men ! ” 

Yet something told her she was in the right, 
and so on she pushed, down Lincoln Street, 
into Saunders Brothers’, past the floorwalker 
and clerks, right up to the business office of 
Mr. William Saunders himself. That gentle- 
man was a pleasant-faced man, and listened 
kindly as Bess told, in a wavering voice, how 
she had lost her place as cashier of Gordon 
& Co., opposite, and thought she could be 
useful in his establishment. 


Making a Place for Herself 57 

“Why did John Gordon turn you away, 
Miss Conway? I have heard that you were 
his right-hand man — er — woman.” 

“ For nothing that I had done, sir,” said 
careful Bess; “and I can only guess at a 
reason, for no reason was given.” 

“Ah! I can guess, too. I know some- 
thing about the stand your father took in that 
infamous school-board matter. But we are 
full here. Miss Conway. You surely don’t 
expect me to turn off an old hand, do you? 
That would be to imitate our friend over 
the way.” 

“No, indeed,” said Bess; “but I think 
I can create a place for myself.” Then 
she fell to an enthusiastic disclosure of the 
plans she had formed. 

Mr. Saunders shook his head. It was 
something new, and novelties didn’t “ take ” 
in Castlewood. He didn’t know; he sup- 
posed, maybe, it might do no harm to try it. 
Yes, she might try it; but she must under- 
stand that it was just for this once ; he would 
see how it would work. 

That was all Bess wanted ; she went out of 
the august presence with a leaping heart, and 


Look Alive! 


58' 

almost hugged Sam, the office boy, who had 
been given her as her assistant. 

“ Now, Sam,” said she, taking him straight 
through the midst of the group of staring 
clerks, “ you and I are going to do something 
that was never done before in this slow old 
town. We are going, really, to dress a show 
window. I am bound to outdo even some 
magnificent ones I once saw in New York 
— ^with your help, Sam,” she shrewdly added. 

Bess measured the big show window, while 
several of the clerks, that knew her and were 
not busy just then, plied her with most in- 
quisitive questions. They were all very 
friendly, however, and very respectful to 
the doughty little woman, and one of the 
more gallant even offered to help her, if she 
would tell him what she wanted done. But 
Bess had ample assistance in Sam, she assured 
them, and the arrival of customers soon drew 
them away, while Bess gave Sam his instruc- 
tions. 

That was a busy forenoon for the dismissed 
cashier. The great front curtain was down, 
hiding her operations from the street, and 
especially from the establishment over the 


Making a Place for Herself 59 

way. Soon, moreover, the framework which 
Sam erected hid her from the curious eyes 
inside the store; for the brisk young fellow 
had nailed together some long boards as a 
basis, and on these Bess had pasted wall paper 
till she had what seemed, from the front, a 
genuine little room. 

Into this room, with all the resources of 
the large furniture store at her command, 
Bess directed Sam to bring this and that, and, 
finally, just before noon, with a dramatic 
wave of her hand, she gave the signal for 
Sam to raise the curtain, while at the same 
time she stepped out of sight into the store. 

A crowd quickly gathered outside that win- 
dow, and Bess eagerly joined the crowd to 
inspect her work. This is what she saw: 
The great window had been transformed into 
the daintiest sleeping room imaginable. The 
wall paper was of a neutral tint, and on it 
were hung three choice water-colors — beau- 
tiful landscapes, with that suggestion of rest- 
fulness and quiet that water-colors are wont 
to have. The carpet was also of a dull hue, 
with a bright rug or two. The bedstead was 
of wood, but beautifully designed, painted 


6o 


Look Alive! 


white, with a fine line of gilt that made it 
look as shell-like as our grandmother’s china- 
ware. The silken bed-curtains were of a deli- 
cate pink, and were coquettishly drawn aside 
to disclose a wonderful bed, all white lace 
and the finest of white linen. 

A little chest of drawers, with curved front, 
most exquisite in its graceful outlines, stood 
by this fairy bed, and on it was a pretty china 
lamp with a light-blue shade, a Bible and an 
a Kempis richly bound, a charming porcelain 
matchbox, and a letter lying open just where 
Miss Unknown had left it. 

There was a marvel of a table — white and 
gilt, as was all the furniture — whereon were 
my lady’s calendar, her favorite poems, her 
choicest photographs, a box of bonbons. 
There was a bewitching little bureau, with a 
mirror that must have been able to make a 
beauty out of the homeliest girl that could 
look into Its sparkling recesses. And on the 
bureau were pretty bottles of perfumery and 
lovely trays and boxes for pins and brushes 
and combs and gloves, and all the little arti- 
cles a girl likes to have at her hand. 

Here and there her photographs were stuck 


Making a Place for Herself 6i 

up. The pretty chairs were just where she 
had been using them. Why, there were her 
soft, fleecy slippers, just ready for her little 
feet. One expected the light portieres to fly 
aside each instant and disclose the sweet owner 
of this sweet room. 

Everything was in such perfect taste, every- 
thing so harmonious and beautiful, and yet 
so simple and natural, that the little room had 
a genuine lesson in color and arrangement to 
teach all spectators. It was far more than 
an attractive advertisement — it was a bit of 
artistic education. 

Bess drew a sigh of satisfaction and relief 
when she saw it. Yes, there was the room 
of her dreams and her careful planning. And 
it was a satisfaction, too, to hear the com- 
ments of the crowd; for even in the short 
time she dared to linger there the entire side- 
walk from which the window could be seen 
was filled with an open-eyed company. The 
fairy-like room held them as by a spell, for 
conservative Castlewood had never before 
seen such a sight. From time immemorial, 
the only adornment of that window had been 
a set of stuffy upholstered parlor furniture. 


621 Look Alive! 

and no window in the city had been better 
off. 

Many, therefore, were the expressions of 
admiration. “Now, isn’t that restful?” 
asked a tired woman. “ Too sweet for 
anything ! ” exclaimed a bright-eyed girl. 
“ Cracky! ” said the small boys. “ I’m just 
going to stand here till she comes,” remarked 
a determined young man; whereat they all 
laughed. 

Well, that was the first day. Bess told all 
her experiences to the home folks, around a 
laughing dinner table, and then, of course, 
she and Grace must go down town in the 
evening to see how the dainty room looked 
by electric light. It was lovelier than ever; 
for Bess had kept that contingency in mind, 
and chosen her colors and grouping for night 
as well as day. The Gordon show windows 
opposite were dark and gloomy. 

Tuesday morning our heroine made a call 
on Mr. William Saunders, to learn results. 
That gentleman met her with a beaming face. 

“ Beautiful I Charming, my dear Miss 
Conway! You have scored a great success. 
Why, the sidewalk is jammed all the time. 


Making a Place for Herself 63 

and Judge Brainard has ordered a set of that 
furniture for his new house. I trust I may 
receive his patronage now, though hereto- 
fore he has been dealing wholly with our 
friends opposite. And, by the way, the Judge 
wants to engage the person who dressed that 
window to superintend the decorating of cer- 
tain rooms in his new house. He said that 
every touch showed a true artist’s eye and 
hand.” 

Before Bess left the store she had made 
an agreement to dress that show window 
every fortnight, and for a price well worth 
while. That was the second day. 

In the meantime, in the store on the other 
side of the street had been confusion and 
vexation. Mr. Gordon, in the first place, had 
failed to get the person he had expected to 
take Bess’s place. One of the clerks was 
acting as cashier, but that left the store with 
an insufficient force, and besides, the young 
man was a better clerk than cashier, and made 
many lamentable blunders. 

Then, too, the success of the wonderful 
show window opposite was a sore trial to Mr. 
Gordon. The constant crowd about it, the 


Look Alive 1 


64 

universal admiration, and, worst of all, the 
attraction of some of his best customers into 
the clutches of Saunders Brothers — all this 
was gall and wormwood to our ward wire- 
puller. 

On Wednesday morning he conceived a 
plan. He had heard that that novel window- 
dressing was the work of a young lady, and 
not, as he had supposed, of one of the Saun- 
ders establishment. 

“ Lanson,” said he, to one of his brightest 
clerks, “ I want you to inquire around and 
find out who it was that got up the show win- 
dow opposite. Then send word to her, and 
tell her I want to see her. One of our clerks 
could dress a window just as well as she, of 
course; but I want to get her away from 
Saunders. Get her here this afternoon, if 
you can.” 

So it happened that at two o’clock that 
very afternoon Lanson stuck his head into 
his employer’s office. 

“ That young lady is here,” said he, with 
a twinkle of triumph in his eye. Then he 
entered, shut the door, and walked up to 
Mr. Gordon, saying, in a low voice: “She 


Making a Place for Herself 65 

says she has had a good deal of experience as 
a cashier, sir.” 

“The very thing!” exclaimed Mr. Gor- 
don, slapping his knee. “ Send her In at 
once.” 

Young Lanson withdrew, and soon re- 
turned, opening the door for a young lady. 
In walked Bess! 

The old gentleman was thunderstruck. 
“ Wh-wh-wh-at ! ” was all he could stammer. 
And yet, to tell the truth, he was rather glad 
to see so soon again the fresh-faced, brown- 
eyed lassie he had turned away In a burst of 
passion five days before. When he had re- 
covered a little from his surprise he Invited 
her to take a chair. 

“ So that was the way you took to get 
even, was It? ” he asked, rather sneeringly. 

Bess reddened. “ I didn’t do It for re- 
venge,” she answered. “ It was the only 
thing I could think of to do, and the only 
place I could think of to do it In.” 

“ Well, you’ll come back, I suppose, if I 
want you? ” 

“ You haven’t asked me yet.” 

“ I ask you now. Miss Conway. I shall 


66 


Look Alive! 


want you, too, to dress my front windows 
regularly, since you have shown such skill in 
that direction. And you must break olf, of 
course, with that house across the street.” 

Bess did not hesitate. 

“ I must refuse the offer, sir. I have agreed 
to serve Saunders Brothers regularly in that 
way; and of course I shall not break off with 
those who were my friends in need. Besides, 
yesterday and to-day I accepted offers in that 
line from enough firms to keep me busy nearly 
all the time at excellent pay; and I have an 
opening for work in the decoration of houses. 
I shall be very happy to add your store to my 
list of customers.” 

“Hum! um!” grunted Mr. Gordon. 
“ I’ll think of it. Good-day! ” 

So Bess went off with flying colors to her 
new work, a field she had marked out for 
herself, and one to which she was peculiarly 
fitted by nature and liking. She won dis- 
tinguished success in it, and a comfortable 
living, with a neat little sum laid up in the 
savings bank. Gordon & Co. were added to 
her list of customers, and were served faith- 
fully and brilliantly, though it is quite need- 


Making a Place for Herself 67 

less to say that Saunders Brothers received 
the especially choice designs. 

“ And all,” said Bess, one day, as she re- 
turned from putting the finishing touches on 
an exquisite room, the library of a stately new 
mansion, “ all this good fortune because my 
dear father did his duty bravely, like a man.” 

“ Yes,” added Mr. Conway, “ and because 
my dear daughter did her duty bravely, like 
a woman.” 


VI 


THE COASTING ON CLAP- 
PER’S HILL 



LAPPER’S HILL is the name we 


boys have given to the steep part of 


Factory Street Two winters ago — 
you remember what an icy winter that was 
— there was the best coasting on Clapper’s 
Hill of all parts of the city. By walking 
about a mile you could get coasting as good, 
or maybe a little better, on Tom’s Hill, out- 
side of town, but we boys were crazy after 
that Factory Street slide. 

I suppose, now I think of it, that we were 
set on coasting there just because folks didn’t 
want us to do so. You see, it was a wee mite 
dangerous. The railroad tracks run along 


68 


The Coasting on Clappe/s Hill 69 

the foot of the hill. It is well within yard 
limits, and the yard engine is wheezing back 
and forth all the time, making up trains. 
Besides, there are a good many express trains 
in the course of the day, and the buildings on 
either side of the hill would hide the cars 
until they were right on one. Altogether, it’s 
a wonder it didn’t happen before. 

Yet we were on our guard against acci- 
dents. We used to take turns standing at the 
foot of the hill on the other side of the tracks, 
where we could see the approaching engines 
and give warning to the coasters. We ex- 
plained that arrangement when any one — par- 
ents or any one — objected to our sliding 
there. For nearly every one did object. There 
was talk of bringing the matter up before 
the City Council and getting an ordinance on 
the subject. Only, as it was nobody’s business, 
nothing was done. 

Well, mother and father they worried a 
great deal about my coasting there, when they 
knew about it, but I often managed to get 
their permission in a way that I am not at all 
proud of. They knew it only as the Factory 
Street hill. They had a vague idea that 


Look ^AUve! 


^ 70 

Clapper’s Hill, as we boys called it, was off 
in the country somewhere. When I found 
that out, I always used to ask them if I might 
coast on Clapper’s Hill, and they always said 
yes. And so, I say, I well deserved what 
happened. 

It was on a Saturday afternoon. We boys 
were having a perfectly glorious time of it 
on Clapper’s Hill. There was a glare of solid 
ice over everything, and when the sled had 
once got fairly started there was no stopping 
it any more than an avalanche. We had 
stationed our “ sentinel,” as we called him. 
It was Bobby Crittenden. No danger of my 
ever forgetting! I had got my permission 
in the usual sneaking way, but I had become 
hardened to that. 

And it was fun that afternoon. We had a 
big bob-sled which would hold ten easily, and 
go like a tornado. And then we had at least 
a dozen first-class small sleds, most of them 
new. We took possession of all our friends 
who passed, grown-up young ladies and all, 
and gave them rides on the bob-sled. 

“ Boys,” old Captain Morris called out as 
he hobbled by, swinging his big cane at us 


The Coasting on Clapper^ s Hill 71 

— “ boys, I wouldn’t slide there. Cars are 
likely to come along at any time. Want to 
wear a cork leg like mine? ” 

But we only laughed. 

“ Oh, Billy! Jack! Ed! ” almost screamed 
old Mrs. Bluffton, leaning out of her sleigh 
as her fat horse worked his slippery way up 
the hill, “ your mothers would be scared to 
death if they saw you coasting here 1 Think 
of the cars ! ” 

We swung our hats at her. 

“ Here, you fellows, this won’t do! ” It 
was Judge Marshall this time, and you may 
be sure we listened respectfully, for he pre- 
sides over the police court. “ Don’t you know 
that this is dangerous? ” 

But we showed the Judge our sentinel, 
Bobby Crittenden, standing ready to give 
warning, and the Judge moved on, grumbling 
to himself. 

We soon got a little tired of the bob-sled, 
and began to hold a series of races^ — a genu- 
ine sled tournament. We would lie flat on 
our sleds, give ourselves only one push at 
the top of the hill, and see how far we could 
slide. Some heavy fellows with big sleds 


72 


Look Alive! 


got as far as the meat market, as much as a 
hundred feet beyond the railroad. 

Bobby Crittenden became excited, and en- 
tered the contest with his sled. No one 
thought about appointing another sentinel. 
Boy after boy went down, some farther, and 
some not so far. 

“ Now let me try,” said I. 

I did not come next, but I saw mother turn 
the corner toward the hill, and I was afraid 
she would make me stop. So I wanted my 
turn in a hurry. You see, I have made up 
my mind to tell all about it, and not hide any- 
thing. 

I fell flat on my sled without waiting for 
the boys to agree, gave a vigorous push, and 
was off. How I flew! It was a long hill, 
steeper at the bottom than at the top, and all 
that afternoon’s sliding had given it an al- 
most perfect surface. But about half-way 
down I heard a rumble and a roar, and my 
heart fairly stood still. It was an express 
train! I knew it in an instant, but never 
thought of tumbling off. My brains would 
not work. I tried to think what to do, but 
I could only think of the white lie about Clap- 


The Coasting on Clapper^ s Hill 73 

per’s Hill, and think about mother coming 
up from the corner. I could see her dear 
face — how it would look as they picked me 
up! Ugh! I shiver when I think of the 
things which came into my head then. 

They say that I screamed. I suppose I did. 
At any rate, I stuck to the sled as if nailed 
there. Then came a clatter and clang and a 
terrible roar, a black streak over my head, 
and I shut my eyes. I suppose I lost my 
senses. The next thing I knew I was lying 
in the middle of the road down by the meat 
market, and people were feeling me all over, 
dashing water in my face, unbuttoning my 
coat. I gasped a few times, and then sat up. 
My head felt dizzy, but only for an instant. 
I wasn’t hurt a mite; I had flashed right 
between the wheels. 

Of course the first thought I had was about 
mother. I looked around for her. She was 
not in the crowd, and then I thought I must 
have been mistaken in thinking I saw her 
turn the corner. But just then I spied another 
group nearer the foot of the hill, moving as 
if carrying something, and I ran toward it 
with my heart beating wildly. 


74 


Look Alive! 


Mother’s nerves always were weak, and to 
see me charging right down hill into an ex- 
press train — ! Well, she had fainted away, 
as you might expect, but that wasn’t the 
worst of it. Oh, those long, long weeks, 
when the house was so still and dark, and 
the doctor looked so serious, and father so 
pale and sad! How I begged to be allowed 
to see mother, if only for an instant! But 
they were afraid it would remind her of that 
terrible scene. I didn’t do much coasting 
through those weeks, I assure you. It was 
just about as solemn a time as you could 
imagine. 

No, not quite; for the dear mother did get 
well, of course, for isn’t it at her suggestion 
that I am writing this story? And I think 
that’s all. Only one thing more. The next 
week the City Council passed an ordinance 
forbidding coasting on Factory Street. Just 
as if the boys hadn’t sense enough to stop of 
their own accord ! 


VII 

THE “WILD WEST” MES- 
SENGER-BOY 

I WAS greatly pleased when Ed Bol- 
ton entered the messenger service in 
my district. I had always admired 
Ed, who was my old schoolmate in Ward Six. 
He had a dash and vigor about him which 
were particularly captivating to a lad like 
myself, with flabby muscles and near-sighted 
eyes. You may like to hear about Ed’s most 
distinguished feat in the messenger service. 

It was on a dark, stormy evening in Decem- 
ber, last year. We were sitting in order, we 
messenger-boys, on our bench, at the station. 
No. I and 2 had just gone on long and dis- 
agreeable errands. Ed was No. 3, at the 
75 


Look Alive! 


76 

head of the row. No. 4 was a boy on duty 
for only one day, to take the place of our 
regular No. 4, Jack Prime. Then came I, 
No. 5. 

This No. 4 had made lots of fun for the 
rest of us all day. (It had been a dull day, 
with little to do.) He was tall and slim, and 
very awkward. He carried himself as if his 
bones were put together by too long liga- 
ments, so that they “ wobbled.” He talked 
in a bashful way, and blushed when any one 
spoke to him. Ed invented some two dozen 
nicknames for him, such as “ Rickets ” and 
“ Beanpole ” and “ Shorty.” We pretended, 
when he came back from his errands, that 
he had been gone a shockingly long time, 
though I really think he did well enough for 
a beginner. 

Across No. 4, then, that evening Ed was 
talking to me, and the other boys were listen- 
ing for the most part. Ed was in high 
feather. He was a great reader of the five- 
cent boys’ weeklies like Captain Sly^s Detec- 
tive Marvels and the Weekly Budget of Ad- 
venture. He usually fancied himself the hero 
of the latest serial story, and would adopt 


The JVild West Messenger-Boy 77 

his name and rehearse his adventures as if 
they were his own. We came to believe him, 
half way, he talked with such spirit, and 
looked so bright and brave. 

That night — I’ll never forget it — he was 
Mosquito Jim, the Texas cowboy. He had 
run away from home with nothing but a 
pistol and unbounded courage. (Ed often 
intimated darkly that if he was absent the 
next day it would be useless to look for him, 
for he would never be taken alive, never!) 
He had fallen in with a band of marauding 
cowboys. His skill and pluck at once placed 
him at their head. They were his enthusiastic 
followers. They would die for him. One of 
them — poor Bill, whom Ed named with tears 
in his eyes as he told the story — did die for 
him. 

Oh, it was a wild life on the great heart of 
the plains! (We city boys listened with open 
mouths and glistening eyes.) One day, just 
six months ago, he had planned a raid on a 
passenger train. His band, suitably dis- 
guised, had boarded the cars, had ridden until 
they reached a long stretch of lonely land, 
had forced the engineer to stop the train, and 


Look Alive! 


78 

compelled the passengers and express agent 
to hand over their money and valuables. 

“ But ah, boys ! ” Ed exclaimed, tragic- 
ally, while we crowded closer, quite disregard- 
ing, in our eagerness to hear, the comfort of 
No. 4 — “ ah, boys, there was a lovely maiden 
on that train, as beautiful as an Egyptian 
princess. She came to me, with tears in her 
lustrous eyes, and begged me to restore the 
plunder, and set the train on its way again. 
I did so without a word. I turned to my 
band. I bade them obey their captain, on 
the honor of cowboys. They gave back the 
money without a murmur, withdrew from the 
car, and we all gracefully tipped our hats as 
the train moved off.” 

“ But how did you get home? ” asked No. 
4, who had been listening in a sleepy sort of 
way. 

“ Hush-sh-sh ! ” came in angry tones from 
the rest of the boys, and Ed went on. 

“ I formed my band in military array. 
‘ Brave lads,’ I cried, with tears in my eyes, 

‘ no more of this wild life for me. A lovely 
maiden on that departing train has shown me 
with a flash of her bright eyes the error of 


The Wild West Messenger-Boy 79 

my ways. I am a cowboy no longer. Fare- 
well ! ’ I gave them a military salute, put 
spurs to my horse, rode rapidly home, and 
here I ami ” 

We all drew a long breath. It had been 
a thrilling story as Ed told it, and we looked 
upon him a very Bayard for nobility and 
bravery. 

Just then Mr. Mason called out, “ No. 3 ! ” 
(Mr. Mason is the man at the desk, you know 
— our superintendent.) We hardly expected 
work that stormy night, but here had come in 
a man in a great hurry, with a big, important- 
looking envelope to be taken to Bleakman 
Street. I heard Mr. Mason tell Ed where to 
take it, and turning to No. 4, I said, 

“ Whew I Em glad I’m not No. 3 just 
now.” 

“Why?” asked No. 4. 

“Why?” I repeated, in astonishment. 
“ Don’t you know about Bleakman Street? 
It’s the worst part of the city. I’ve heard of 
a messenger-boy who was set upon there by 
a gang of roughs and beaten almost to death, 
and made to give up his parcel. That’s 
why. And such a night as this, too ! ” 


8o 


Look Alive! 


** It’s lucky Ed is such a brave boy,” 
drawled No. 4. “ But look at him ! ” 

I did look. What was the mater? Ed 
was as white as a sheet 1 I could see the big 
envelope tremble in his hands. He was beg- 
ging Mr. Mason to let him off I 

“ It’s not dangerous at all, my boy,” I heard 
Mr. Mason say, kindly, “ and it’s your turn.” 
“ But No. 4 is bigger than I am, sir.” 

I actually heard Ed say that! And then, 
when Mr. Mason sternly bade him do his 
duty, he broke into great blubbering sobs, 
threw the envelope on the desk, snatched up 
his hat, and went home. That was the last 
the service saw of its “ Wild West Messenger- 
boy.” 

“ No. 4 1 ” called Mr. Mason, looking with 
a smile after the departing figure. (I am 
sure, from his remarks later, that he had 
heard Ed’s glorious romance.) 

Then I became panic-stricken in my turn. 
Bleakman Street was the bugaboo of us mes- 
senger-boys, never mentioned save in a tone 
of awed respect. Many terrifying stories in 
regard to it were current among us. No. 4, 
a mere supply for a day, would never go 


The Wild West^^ Messenger-Boy 8i 

into that rendezvous of thieves and rowdies; 
and I came next ! 

But No. 4 rose promptly, took up the en- 
velope with a respectful bow, walked with a 
smiling face to the hat-rack, and waved his 
hat at us as he went out into the storm. How 
we cheered! 

And No. 4 is our No. 3 now, in place of 
the “ Wild West Messenger-boy.” 


VIII 


A LAWN-MOWER REFOR- 
MATION 


OME, Si, here’s a bargain,” said 



Mr. Commons, of the corner dry- 


goods-grocery-hardware store, pull- 
ing a clattering old machine toward the 
group of loafers lounging on the low platform 
in front. “ What will you give me for this 
lawn-mower? It cost ten dollars.” 

“ Si,” who was addressed, was the longest, 
lankest, and laziest of the group, and drawled 
out, “ Give ye a dollar for ’t, if ye’ll trust 
me till ca-awn-huskin’ time.” 

“ All right. Si ! It’s a bargain, and dirt- 
cheap; but I’ve a new one, and have no use 
for this, lumbering around. Take it out of 
my way.” 


82 


A Lawn-Mower Reformation 83 

“Haw! haw! haw! What d’ye want o’ 
that, Si? ” laughed a great, red-faced farmer, 
as Si moved off. “Why, that machine ain’t 
a-goin’ to work itself, Si 1 ” 

“ An’ youHl never work it, you know,^ — ^ 
he! he!” said a grinning loafer, to make 
the joke perfectly plain. 

“ I’ll keep your seat for you till you come 
back! ” another shouted, moving over to the 
empty cracker-box whose top Si had just 
vacated. 

“ That feller never did a stitch of work in 
his life, ril venture,” said a wiry little team- 
ster who was watering his horse at the pump, 
looking after Si as he slowly moved down the 
street. 

“ He hires out to Mr. Commons as a statoo, 
to ornyment his store. Haw! haw! haw! ” 
roared the village wit from a cool seat inside 
the door. 

“ An’ gets the same wages you do,” another 
wag retorted, laughing uproariously. 

“ You’re out a dollar, Mr. Commons,” 
said the first, addressing the proprietor. 

But Mr. Commons only smiled quietly. 

In the meantime the object of these various 


Look Alive! 


84 

gibes was leisurely plodding toward his home, 
thinking of nothing, as was his wont. Phi- 
losophers say that this is impossible, but no 
philosopher was ever acquainted with Si Wil- 
liams. He reached his house, removed a gate 
which was propped against a gap in a rickety 
fence, pulled the mower through, and, after 
several trials, made the gate fill the gap again, 
rather unsteadily. Then he stood fanning 
himself in the shade of a small elm, and 
viewed the situation. 

The house had been a pretty little cottage, 
but the weather-boards were loose in many 
places, and sadly in need of paint; the little 
front porch was tottering, the steps shaky; 
the yard in front — about a quarter of an acre 
— was a pandemonium of weeds and tall 
grass run to seed ; and one could get glimpses 
of a worse weed carnival in the little garden 
behind. 

“ Looks kinder hard,” thought Si. “ Wish’t 
mother had ’s nice a place t’ live in ’s Mrs. 
’Squire Peters. Howsomtytr^ this isn’t bad, 
with a lawn-mower. What a bargain I Why, 
’f I wanted to, I might sell ’t for two dollars ’t 
least, an’ double my money. ’N’ then I might 
double that, ’n’ that ’d be four; ’n’ then ” 


A Lawn-Mower Reformation 85 

Here Mrs. Williams put her head out of 
an open front window, and cried : 

“ Why, Si ! What in the world are you 
doing with that mower? ” 

“ Got it at a bargain, mother. Only one 
dollar, an’ it cost ten ! ” 

“ Nonsense, Si 1 You’ll never use it. A 
thing’s dear at nothing if it’s of no use. Take 
it right back.” 

“ I will, too, use it,” said Si, unfolding his 
arms and coming out of the shade of the elm. 
“What makes you think I won’t?” And, 
not stopping for the answer he knew was 
quite ready, he hurried on. “ Where’s the 
scythe? ” 

“ In the woodshed, dull’s a meat-ax. You’d 
better take back that lawn-mower. You’ll 
never earn your dollar, an’ I’ll have it to pay 
for.” 

But Si had gone whistling to the woodshed. 

Mrs. Williams, it should be said, being 
alone in the world with Si, was compelled to 
work as hard as he idled, and was worn to 
almost the tenuity of the needle she continu- 
ally pushed. 

“ Guess folks think I’m good for nothin’,” 
meditated Si, as he slowly took the old scythe 


86 


Look Alive! 


down from the rafters, and ran his big thumb 
along the edge. “ Guess they’re not far 
wrong. But I’ll show ’em.” And he pro- 
ceeded to whet the scythe vigorously. It was 
not long before he cut his finger, and decided 
to stop for the present. “ Ought ter see the 
grindstone, anyway,” he soliloquized; “ ’n 
that takes two.” 

Returned to the front yard, he took off his 
coat, deliberately grasped the scythe, and 
said, “ Now look out fer business! ” 

Fortunately, weeds are easy mowing, and 
fell quite readily before the awkward swing 
of Si’s dull implement. When he came to 
the grass, it was a different matter; but it 
was haggled off after a fashion, and Si con- 
templated in high glee the battle-ground 
strewn with slain. 

“ Guess that’s ’nough fer one day,” he mut- 
tered, looking at the sun. 

“ Halloa, Si I ” shouted Lawyer Jones from 
over the way. “ You’ve made a mistake, I 
guess. That’s work ! But you’ve got enough 
of it. I’ll warrant.” 

“ Just got started ! ” Si shouted back defi- 
antly, going after his old wooden rake. 





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A Lawn-Mower Reformation 87 

The heaps of grass and weeds being re- 
moved, the front yard looked so nice that he 
was tempted to be satisfied. “ But what’s 
the use of having a lawn-mower? ” he queried, 
and went valiantly to work again. 

Now, be it known to the uninitiated that 
to run a lawn-mower over a virgin field is no 
easy job. Mole-hills innumerable contest their 
right to undisturbed possession. There are 
deep pits, made by stray cows in muddy 
weather. There are loose stones, thrown 
from the street at the birds by the small 
boy. There are irrepressible tree-roots. There 
are bits of broken twigs. 

So Si found it. Mole-hills and tough roots 
suddenly checked the machine in full career, 
doubling him up over the handle. Hidden 
stones clashed and struck fire. A wheel would 
drop into a grass-covered pitfall. Twigs and 
long grass choked up the mower. In addition, 
it was a hot day. 

Altogether, he would have been excusable 
for much weariness at the end of the hour’s 
steady pushing. “ But pshaw 1 ” he muttered, 
as he viewed his work with profound satis- 
faction. “ I ain’t ’s tired ’s when I started in. 


88 


Look Alive! 


An’ how a lawn-mower does improve looks! 
Why, our front yard’s as fine as Mrs. Squire 
Peterses’. Never thought it could look so 
pretty I Ain’t that just be-yw-tiful, now 
though! Mother! Come here, mother ! ” 

Mrs. Williams came, her apron full of 
work, and opened astonished eyes. 

“ Why, Si! That’s capital! ” said she. 

“It’s just complete, / say!” exulted her 
son. 

“Well, no. Si. What about the fence?” 

Si’s eyes were opened at once to an in- 
congruity. The smoothly-shaven lawn did 
seem to match rather poorly the shaky, dilapi- 
dated fence and propped-up gate. 

“ Any nails in the house? ” asked Si. And 
the next moment saw him shambling toward 
Mr. Commons’ store. 

“ Haw ! haw ! haw ! ” “ We expected 

you!” “Saved your place. Si!” came in 
chorus from the loungers. 

But Si walked, grinning, past them all, up 
to the counter. “ Gi’ me a couple o’ pounds 
o’ ten-pennies,” he ordered, while the loafers 
stared in amazement. 

His homeward pace was quickened with 


A Lawn-Mower Reformation 89 

desire to see again the beautiful new lawn, 
and the ugly fence struck him at once with 
fresh disgust. 

“ Here’s at you ! ” he muttered, as he came 
out of the wood-shed with hammer and an 
old hinge, which latter he proceeded to nail 
in rough-and-ready fashion to the gate. He 
was soon able to open and shut the gate, 
swinging it to and fro proudly, and many 
more times than was strictly necessary. 

His fingers had received some bad bruises 
from the clumsily wielded hammer; but the 
pickets were securely fastened, and the fence 
was straight and firm all around when his 
mother called him to dinner. 

“ Jolly!” said he to himself, as he picked 
up his tools and walked slowly to the house, 
casting delighted glances around him. “ Jolly I 
This is something like 1 ” 

Stepping on the porch, he felt it quiver, 
and fell back a little to examine. 

- “ Pooh 1 Faw I What a porch to face such 

a stylish yard! Just wait till after dinner! ” 
And after dinner, sure enough, at it he 
went, a wonder to all passers-by. He found 
it a difficult task, however. The steps had 


90 


Look Alive! 


to be braced. The foundation stones were 
loose, and some had fallen out. The posts 
needed strengthening. The fringe of orna- 
mental woodwork about the top was hanging 
by a nail or two. The tin gutter along the 
roof, with its spout, was choked with leaves. 
So he hammered and whistled away steadily 
all through the afternoon, with only tolerable 
success. 

Mrs. Williams and Si sat in the recon- 
structed porch as the sun went down. The 
tired woman had laid aside her work for a 
moment in honor of these extraordinary 
events. 

“ And, mother,” said Si, “ do you know 
I’ve been thinkin’? ” 

“What about. Si?” 

“Well, say now! Is it too late to plant 
vegetables and such truck? There’s that back 
yard of ours just goin’ to waste.” 

Mrs. Williams was too much astonished to 
reply at once. 

“ I s’pose it isn’t too late for some late corn 
and such like,” she said at last. 

“ An’ we might have — flowers! ” mused Si. 

“ But where are you going to get your 


A Lawn-Mower Reformation 91 

seed? ’’ objected his mother. “ We can’t beg 
any this time o’ year, and I’ve no money to 
buy any.” 

Si said nothing, but sat staring out into the 
smooth yard. 

The next morning, after their early break- 
fast, Si Williams’ tall, ungainly form strode 
up to Dr. Jenkins’ front door. 

“Want your front yard fixed up?” he 
queried, as the doctor came from his office at 
the summons of the bell. 

“Fixed up? How?” 

“ Oh, mowed, an’ lawn-mowered, an’ raked, 
an’ so on.” 

“ Can you do it nicely? ” 

“ You needn’t pay me, if I don’t. I’ll do 
it for fifty cents. Mrs, Jenkins’ll like it,” 
Si added shrewdly, — for the doctor was known 
to idolize his newly-married wife. 

“ Well, it does look rather wild,” the doc- 
tor admitted, looking out on his fine shrub- 
bery, half hidden by the weeds and tall 
blue-grass. “ You may try it if you want to. 
But mind, you must do it neatly, or no pay.” 

Si came back promptly with his tools, and 
went vigorously to work. With his yester- 


Look Alive! 


921 

day’s experience to help him, he made 
pretty good job of it; and the doctor was 
quite ready, as he stood on the nicely clipped 
turf, and noted how carefully the bushes had 
been trimmed of all irregularities, to pay him 
the stipulated half-dollar. 

That took until two o’clock in the after- 
noon, but Si had determined to make a day 
of it. He was having his first taste of work, 
and the novelty charmed him. So he visited 
Mr. Commons’ store, bought some packages 
of seed, paid for them with his half-dollar, 
to the further amazement of the company on 
the porch, and actually had two beds spaded 
and planted before supper-time. 

That evening the couple, mother and son, 
sat out on the back porch to view the latest 
triumph. 

“ Si, what’s got into you. Si? ” Mrs. Wil- 
liams asked, with a happy smile. 

Si was silent, and replied, after some mus- 
ings, with a counter-question : 

“ Any idea, mother, what ’t would cost to 
paint this house? ” 

“Mercy on us! A fortune, child! What 
are you thinking of?” 


A Lawn-Mower Reformation 93 

But Si had discovered that money could be 
earned, and that it was pleasant to earn it. 
He dreamed himself into a Vanderbilt that 
night. His spade was heard in the garden 
before breakfast the next morning. When 
his mother caught the sound, she almost 
dropped the coffee-pot she was lifting from 
the stove, and tears of joy sprang to her eyes. 
I think she prayed a little prayer. It took 
all the morning to finish spading and planting 
the back yard; but it was done at last, and 
pretty neatly done, too. 

Si was away from home all the afternoon. 

“I thought it couldn’t last!” sighed his 
mother. “ I s’pose he’s holding down some 
store-box somewhere. Anyway, it was nice 
while it lasted. He’s just like his father was, 
for all the world.” 

And she wiped away a tear. 

But Si came home to supper jubilant. 

“ I’ve got it, mother; I’ve got it! ” 

“ Got what? ” 

“ Got a place ! And just guess where.” 
And then, without waiting, he rushed on, 
abandoning his usual drawl, “ Y’see, I kept 
seein’ there was no use fixin’ up the front 


94 


Look Alive! 


yard ’n’ the fence ’n’ the porch ’slong’s the 
house made everything look so shabby for 
want of paint an’ so on. So I wanted to get 
into the way o’ earning some money, ’n’ I’ve 
been around. Went ’bout everywhere. To 
the blacksmith’s, ’n’ the flour-mill, ’n’ the 
saw-mill, ’n’ everywhere, ’n’ asked if they 
wanted help, ’n’ they all laughed ’n’ hollered 
’n’ haw-hawed. Then I just happened t’ 
think that Mr. Commons’ clerk’s goin’ off to 
the city this week, ’n’ I begged hard, ’n’ I got 
the place on trial. I just did ! ” 

“Why, Si! Why, Si! That’s splendid ! ” 

Si had never seen his mother’s eyes shine 
so, and he liked it. 

Well, the story is soon ended. Despite the 
boding prophecies of the many envious loung- 
ers on the front platform. Si kept his position 
as Mr. Commons’ clerk. Corn-husking time 
came around, but the mower was paid for 
long before. Indeed, the cottage already 
shone in a coat of the brightest paint. An- 
other corn-husking time came around, and 
Mrs. Williams sat alone on the neat front 
porch of evenings. But a pleased smile played 
now and then about her worn face as she 


A Lawn-Mower Reformation 95 

thought that her boy, once the jest of all 
the girls in town, was now “ waiting on ” the 
prettiest and nicest of them all. Another 
corn-husking time, and Josiah Williams had 
been admitted to two partnerships — one with 
Mr. Commons, and one with the dearest girl 
in the world. 

They had a charming new little cottage in 
which to set up their household gods, near 
the one where Si’s happy mother still lived. 
And what do you think that the proud young 
husband chose alone of all the old belongings, 
to transfer to the fresh home? The old lawn- 
mower ! 

“ For this, Lucy,” he said, “ first taught 
me the blessed joy of work.” 


IX 

RUM AND MOLASSES 

B illy was thirteen. So was Tommy. 
Billy had red hair and freckles. So 
had Tommy. Tommy was an enthu- 
siastic entomologist. So was Billy. It was 
in the afternoon of the early autumn under 
an elm in Billy’s front yard. Croquet had 
just lost its charm, and the abandoned balls 
and mallets lay about them. 

“ How are your larvae getting on, Billy? ” 
said Tommy, luxuriously kicking up his heels 
on the grass. 

“ Pretty well. My Cecropia has begun to 
spin. I’m decidedly glad. I’ll not have to 
get leaves for him any more. He was such 
an eater ! How are yours? ” 

96 


Rum and Molasses 


97 


“ The last of my A j axes came out to-day. 
A fine fellow. The most magnificent tails I 
have in my collection. Found a new larva 
to-day on some white clover. A big fuzzy 
one. Black and white.” 

“ It isn’t a ‘ woolly bear,’ is it? ” 

“ Guess not, though it might be. Did I 
show you that last stretcherful of ‘ woolly 
bears’ of mine? Well, did I tell you that 
I forgot to fill up the dishes of water it was 
standing in, and the ants just riddled it? 
There isn’t a perfect specimen left.” 

“ That’s too bad. But you needn’t grum- 
ble. Tommy, my luna is gone! It makes 
me sick to think of it. I found dust beneath 
it yesterday, and to-day I picked several mu- 
seum beetles out of it. It’s just hanging to- 
gether. I mean to keep camphor in my cases 
all the time after this.” 

“ We must manage to get some more large 
moths. Billy, did you ever try the scheme the 
last Entomologist speaks of — smearing a tree 
with rum and molasses, you know, and pick- 
ing off the moths in the morning? It sounds 
promising.” 

“ The very identical thing! Let’s try it! ” 


Look Alive! 


98 

“All right. When? To-night?” 

“ Yes, right off. Where’ll we get the rum, 
Tommy? ” 

“ I can get that, if you’ll get the molasses.” 

“ Well, I will, because I don’t know where 
to get any rum without going to the saloon 
for it, and I won’t do that.” 

“ Nor I either, of course. I’ll bring the 
rum here after supper, and we can mix it 
then. And let’s spread it on some trees down 
in the Glen. It won’t be disturbed there, you 
know.” 

“ All right. Now I’ll beat you another 
game of croquet.” 

“ You can’t do it.” 

It is after supper, and the two are met 
again, Billy with a quite large pail of molasses, 
the purchase of which had made a serious 
breach in his tin-bank account; Tommy with 
a very small bottle. 

“ What’s that. Tommy? The rum? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ There’s mighty little of it. Where’d you 
get it? ” 

“Drug-store; and you wouldn’t think it 
little if you had to pay for it.” 


Rum and Molasses 


99 


“ Let’s look at the label. Why, Tommy 
Shepherd ! This is ^^^y-rum ! ” 

“ Well, that’s rum, isn’t it, Billy? ” 

“ It isn’t the kind men get drunk on. Why, 
the rum is to make the moths drunk, you 
know. Tommy, and then they stick to the 
molasses.” 

“ Well, how do you know bay-rum won’t 
make them drunk? Insects don’t get drunk 
in the same way men do, of course. Let’s 
mix them.” 

The Glen was a wild ravine near the town, 
broad and well-wooded along the bottom, 
through which wound a beautiful little stream. 
Down the rocky side-path the bucket of the 
precious liquid was safely borne, and two 
trees were selected across the stream, a hick- 
ory by Tommy, an ash by Billy. These were 
liberally anointed and the bucket was scraped 
clean. 

“ Flowing with locusts and wild honey,” 
murmured Billy, with vague reminiscence of 
Sabbath-school lessons. “ These trees are 
flowing with the wild honey part, anyway.” 

“ Huh ! ” said the better-informed Tommy. 
“ That isn’t right I ” 


100 


Look Alive! 


“What is, then?” 

“ When’ll we come down here to-mor- 
row? ” said Tommy, discreetly and quickly. 

The conversation here drifted into more 
absorbing topics, and all the preliminaries for 
the morrow’s campaign were arranged. 

The morning twilight had not yet bright- 
ened the eastern sky when a long-drawn shout 
of “ Thoas! ” was heard outside Tommy’s 
window, lifting many a head from the pillow 
along that quiet street. That cry was the two 
boys’ long-established signal, being the spe- 
cific name of the largest butterfly of that 
neighborhood, rather rare and difficult to cap- 
ture. A white apparition glimmered dimly 
at Tommy’s window, and a voice, dreadfully 
sleepy for all its owner could do, made an- 
swer, “ Ajax I ” a signal adopted in honor of 
the most beautiful and swiftest among the 
Papilios, 

A pause, during which a bird woke up, and 
ventured on a few experimental chirrups. 
Then the front door was softly opened, and 
a hastily-attired boy emerged therefrom, bear- 
ing a butterfly net, and a wide-mouthed jar, 
for the reception of the expected prey. A sim- 


Rum and Molasses loi 

ilarly-equipped young gentleman waited at the 
gate, with one hand up to stifle a yawn. A 
not unnecessary lantern made a yellow circle 
on the side-walk. 

Through the town they passed, with steps 
involuntarily subdued out of respect to the 
sleepers on either hand. Outside of town the 
unfamiliar hush of early morning still further 
quieted their voices. 

“ Now don’t forget, Billy,” said Tommy, 
when they had climbed the last fence; “ all 
the moths on the hickory are mine.” 

“ And all the moths on the ash are mine.” 

“ Yes. We must keep cool, or some of ’em 
will get away. My! I hope there’s a luna 
on mine, and a Polyphemus! ” 

“ And I want an lo and a Prometheus and 
a Cecropia! ” 

They stumbled down the dark side of the 
ravine, the edges of whose rocks the coming 
dawn was but beginning to show. An owl 
hooted mournfully near by, and in the still- 
ness the ripple of the brook sounded startlingly 
distinct. Carefully throwing the light on the 
stepping-stones, they crossed the stream with 
unwonted slowness, and made their way to 


102 


Look Alive! 


Tommy’s hickory. The lantern was held up 
and the handles of the nets were firmly 
grasped as they approached the tree. Alas! 
what abnormal abstemiousness had seized the 
insect tribe? Save a flimsy little moth or two, 
with gummed and ruined wings, the trunk 
was bare of lepidopterous life 1 Their hearts 
had been beating fast in expectation. They 
were now heavy as lead, especially Tommy’s. 

But Billy’s ash remained, and Billy’s hopes 
again rose high, as they drew near. Nor was 
he disappointed. A superb Cecropia flapped 
his great wings before their eager eyes, a 
dozen smaller fry made the trunk bewilder- 
ing with moving wings and hints of color 
in the lantern light, and, as they approached, 
from the direction of Tommy’s tree flew a 
great green luna moth, and settled down op- 
posite the Cecropia. 

“ That came from my tree 1 That is 
mine! ” shouted Tommy, rushing impulsively 
around the tree and making a wild dive for 
the luna, while Billy indignantly and excitedly 
sprang forward to head him off. Alas, for en- 
tomological zeal and scientific selfishness ! 
Tommy tripped over a projecting root in his 


Rum and Molasses 103 

blind hurry, and came hotly, with outstretched 
arms, against the rum-and-molasses covered 
tree ! The great Cecropia, startled, made one 
vigorous and successful flutter with wide, soft 
wings, and escaped from its sticky bondage. 
With a cry of despair Billy threw down the 
lantern and leaped after it a few feet in the 
dark, coming up sharply, ere he knew it, 
against Tommy’s profitless, but abundantly 
sticky hickory. Clothes and tree-trunk parted 
lingeringly. Finally disengaged, Billy went 
back, picked up the lantern, and cast its still 
flickering light on a woe-begone object, face, 
hands, and coat yellow with the uncomfort- 
able substance. Billy stood with sticky arms 
akimbo, and said as majestically as his mo- 
lasses-besmirched countenance permitted: 

“ Tommy Shepherd, you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself I from now on and for 
evermore ! ” 

To which Tommy could make no reply. 

The east was glowing with scarlet and 
green and already bright with the herald 
gleams of the advancing sun as two wretched 
youths, with draggled nets and empty collect- 
ing bottles, softly opened the gates of their re- 


104 


Look Alive! 


spective homes. Not all the water in the Glen 
could make their clothes anything but sticky, 
stiff, and uncomfortable, though water had 
evidently been freely used; nor could it re- 
move the wonderful odor, compounded of 
molasses and bay-rum. As their sisters later 
said, “ The boys never were so sweet before.” 
But they made up for this in the sourness of 
their temper; and Billy grimly remarked that, 
aside from his own trouble, he was glad 
enough that a fellow who, like Tommy, did 
not care to stick to a bargain, should be made 
to stick to a tree I 


X 

HABBERTON’S BASH- 
FULNESS 

W ELL, what did you think of the 
valedictorian? Wasn’t he jine? 
I don’t think Bronson Academy 
ever turned out a better orator. Wasn^t that 
a speech ? I tell you ! 

And, do you know, that was just one of 
his ordinary speeches. Yes, sir, Habberton 
can get up in the literary society, — the Bron- 
son Lit, we call it for short, — and he can 
make a speech as good as that right off, with- 
out any preparation at all, just give him a sub- 
ject he’s read about. I’ve heard him do it 
scores of times. Oh, he’s a wonder, Habber- 
ton is. 


105 


Look Alive! 


io 6 

You’d hardly believe me, would you? if I 
told you that two years ago Habberton was 
the most bashful boy in school. But he was. 
And I never saw a more bashful fellow any- 
where. 

To-day? No, not a quiver I Afraid? 
Why, he’d speak before the President, or 
the Governor, or he’d get up before the legis- 
lature, if he had to, and his nerves wouldn’t 
shake an atom. Now that crowd we had in 
Assembly Hall this commencement — I should- 
n’t care about facing it; but Habberton? 
Well, you saw him. He was as much at ease 
as if he were talking to a half-dozen fellows 
in his room. 

What made the difference? If you have 
time to hear. I’d like to tell you. It’s a 
funny story, the way we brought him out. 
It happened two, years ago. 

You see, the whole school was sorry for 
Habberton, boys and faculty and all. It was 
really pitiful. Every one knew that he was 
the best scholar in the academy. Best? I 
should say sol When he didn’t get lOO he 
got 99i I He knew things, but he just couldn’t 
say them. 


Hahberton^s Bashfulness 107 

When his turn came to recite, he grew pale, 
and his breath came hard, and he shook so 
it was painful to look at him. His book 
trembled so that I don’t see how he ever 
made out what he was translating. And when 
he was sent to the board, IVe seen the chalk 
fall out of his hands, he was so nervous. Yet 
the funny thing was that his translation was 
always the best, and his demonstrations were 
always accurate, to a dot. 

The professors were easy on him, for they 
pitied him, but of course they had to call on 
him just about as much as the other boys. 
“ Rhetoricals ” were the worst. They made 
him actually sick, so that he had to go to 
bed after they were over, he was so strung up. 
It wasn’t an ordinary case of scare. It was 
a disease, an actual disease. And it was a 
burning shame, when he was so smart in 
every way. 

A splendid good fellow, too. Every one 
liked him. He’d sit up half the night help- 
ing any one out that came to him. He was 
worth another teacher to the faculty, easily. 
He must have spent a third of his time just 
getting the fellows over the hard places. And 


io8 Look Alive! 

they appreciated it, too. No one ever made 
fun of him for his bashfulness, — at least after 
the first, when we came to know him. We 
did plague him at the start. 

But we made up our minds, at last, that 
something ought to be done. It wasn’t right 
to let a brilliant fellow go spoiled by timidity. 
But what to do we didn’t know, until Jim 
Peters got up his scheme. Jim was a great 
one for schemes; we called him Jim Dandy. 

Habberton belonged to the Bronson Lit. 
He went into it as a matter of duty, though 
really it didn’t do him a mite of good. All 
he did was to read in it, read essays. They 
were tip-top essays, but I’ve always held that 
the chief good of a literary society’s the de- 
bating. It’s for a fellow to get up on his two 
feet without a scrap of paper and face the 
audience and just talk it right out, whatever 
he has in him to talk out. That gives a man 
command of himself. Yes, and command 
over others, too. There’s nothing like it. 

But Habberton never got that drill. If he 
was put on for a debate or an extemporaneous 
speech, he always begged off. We did insist, 
once or twice, but he got sick, thinking about 


Habberton^s Bashfulness 109 

it, and had such violent headaches that he 
couldn’t leave his room. No shamming about 
it, either. He wouldn’t do that! 

Jim’s scheme? Well, it was at the begin- 
ning of the fall term, two years ago. I think 
he cooked it up during the vacation. 

His cousin — Jim Peters’s cousin — came to 
school for the first time that year, — Ross Ley- 
ton. Leyton was a white-faced, meek little 
chap. 

Well, after Jim had whispered around 
among the boys, we all began to be down on 
that white-faced, meek little Ross Leyton. 
Persecute? That’s no word for it. You 
don’t know how mean a parcel of boys can 
be, when they try. And we tried. 

There wasn’t anything you could think of, 
that could be done to plague a fellow, that 
we didn’t do to that solemn-eyed Leyton. 

We stole his books. We hid his cap. We 
guyed him unmercifully. We made fun of his 
flaxen hair, and of his bashfulness, and of his 
ignorance of academy ways. We snickered 
when he made mistakes in the class. We 
hoo-hooed when he came into boarding hall. 
We got into his room, and tumbled it all up. 


1 10 


Look Alive! 


We hazed him. One night he was found in 
the middle of the campus, tied to the college 
skeleton, and both of them made fast to the 
crab-apple tree. 

There was only one fellow in the academy 
that took Leyton’s part, and that was Hab- 
berton. It was Habberton who helped him 
fix up his room again. One of the boys went 
and told him what a plight it was in, chuc- 
kling over it, and got a good talking to. It 
was Habberton who found him tied up with 
the skeleton. Another boy told him that 
time, and he got a raking over. 

When we made fun of Leyton, we could 
see Habberton was as mad as fire, and he lec- 
tured us, roundly, if only a few of us were 
there. But when it was a whole roomful 
doing it, he just sat and ground his teeth. 

Leyton went to Habberton with all his 
woes, and got comforted; but the more com- 
fort he got the more he needed, for w^e didn’t 
ease up a mite as the term went on. We only 
thought of more things. 

Habberton grew madder and madder. I 
never saw a boy so angry — and keep still. 
“ It’s cruel ! ” he’d say to those near him. 


Habherton^s Bashfulness 1 1 1 

“ It’s beastly I Isn’t there a decent fellow in 
the school, to speak up for that poor little 
chap ? ” But there didn’t seem to be. It 
grew worse and worse. 

The climax was one night in the Lit. Ross 
Leyton was on for an essay. It was on 
“ Labor-Saving Machinery,” and he had 
worked it up in good shape, with Habberton’s 
help. But that made no difference. 

Professor Packard was there, the only one 
of the faculty, as it happened. Jim had a 
little talk with him before the meeting began, 
and he laughed and shook hands with Jim. 

Everything went well till Leyton was called 
on. Then you should have heard the fel- 
lows! They began to hiss, and hoot, and 
laugh, all together, the president of the Lit 
simply sitting there and grinning. 

Leyton got up and went forward, looking 
around at Habberton in a scared sort of way. 
Habberton’s face was first white, and then 
red, and then white again. He looked at 
Professor Packard appealingly, but the pro- 
fessor was smiling as if he enjoyed it. Once 
Habberton half rose, but he sank back again, 
and covered his face with his hands. 


II2 


Look Alive! 


Leyton tried three times before we let him 
start in. Each time the cat-calls and the 
hisses broke out again. At last he began. I 
remember his first sentence. It was perfectly 
innocent. It was this : “ In the days of our 
forefathers, a simple plow sufficed, with a 
harrow, to cultivate the fields.” 

Then the fellows broke out again. They 
shouted and mocked him. “ A simple 
plow!” they called. And then they took 
up the cry as if it were the prime joke of the 
season: “A simple, a si-i-i-mple plow — ow 
— ow — ow 1 ” “ Simple I Simple Simon 1 ” 
It was perfectly ridiculous. 

Leyton stood there, looking scared to 
pieces; and he dug his fist into his eye. Then 
he squared off, and started again. 

“ The steam plow, the planter, the cul- 
tivator, the reaper, the thresher, were all un- 
known.” 

“ Too-oo-oo bad! ” groaned the boys. 

“ Unkn-o-o-own ! All unknown ! ” 

Then they hissed, all of them together. 
Professor Packard actually joined in. 

And then Habberton jumped up. His eyes 
flashed. His hands were clinched. His face 


Habberton*s Bashfulness 113 

was white and set. Mr, President! he 
fairly thundered. 

In an instant the room was as still as death. 

“ Mr. Habberton,” said the president, rec- 
ognizing him. 

“ Mr. President, this is an outrage! I have 
stood it as long as I can. I have stood it 
longer than any one with a shred of manliness 
ought to stand such proceedings. If the fac- 
ulty ’’ — and he glared at Professor Packard 
— “ do not choose to interfere, I will, and I 
don’t care if I am alone in my protest. Mr. 
President, for a hundred fellows to come 
down in this way on one, and he a young 
chap, just beginning, — it is cowardly, sir I I 
have no words black enough to brand it, sir I 
It must stop. It must stop this hour, and 
from this night on. I solemnly declare that, 
though every other person in this school is 
the enemy of this boy, I will be his friend, 
and I will no longer sit tamely by and see him 
insulted and abused. If this continues, I will 
lay it before the faculty. Ostracize me, if you 
please; I do not care. The faculty” — again 
he glared at Professor Packard — “ may not 
hear me; I do not care. At any rate I will 


Look Alive! 


114 

do my duty. And I call on every one here, 
who has a spark of manliness within him, to 
stand by the side of this defenseless boy.” 

Oh, it was magnificent, I tell you I I can’t 
begin to repeat it, the way he said it. And 
when he got through, he just glared around, 
looking every one of us in the eye. 

There was just a little silence, and then 
we burst out in the biggest applause that old 
Lit room had ever heard. My ! how we did 
clap and shout! And Professor Packard, 
too. Yes, and Ross Leyton, most of all. 

But Habberton raised his hand with a 
commanding gesture, and we were all quiet 
as mice, to hear what more he had to say. 

“ I take that applause,” he went on, “ as 
a promise. I hope it was genuine applause, 
and not sarcastic. I hope we shall be able 
now to listen to the rest of Leyton’s essay 
with the respect that every honest effort de- 
serves.” 

With that he sat down, and we gave him 
another round of applause, but not too long 
to spoil the effect. Then we let Leyton go 
on without further interruption, and of course 
we gave him some applause at the end. 


Habherton^s Bashfulness 1 1 5 

Really, though, Leyton deserved a lot of 
hand-clapping, for he had carried off his part 
remarkably well. 

You see, it was all a put-up job, and Ley- 
ton was in the secret as well as all the rest of 
us, and Professor Packard. Jim’s cousin was 
just the fellow for it, with his sober face. 
He helped tumble up his own room. He 
himself got the college skeleton, so that he 
could be tied up with it. And he and Jim 
together got up the scheme of the essay, to 
finish off matters, if possible, for Leyton was 
getting rather weary of playing his part. 
Leyton was really one of the boldest boys in 
school. That was why his cousin got him to 
be persecuted. 

It was a rather severe experience for Hab- 
berton. We watched him a little anxiously 
the rest of that evening, but there was no reac- 
tion. He just held up his head, as if he was 
ready to fight the lot of us. 

And the next morning it was the same way. 
He recited in a defiant fashion, and without 
a particle of nervousness. He was sent to 
the board, and his hand didn’t tremble a 
mite. It was “ rhetoricals ” that afternoon, 


ii6 


Look Alive! 


and he was down for an essay. I declare, he 
hardly looked at his paper, but just seemed to 
talk it off, looking squarely and calmly at the 
crowd. Yes, sir, Habberton was cured of his 
bashfulness. 

And he stayed cured. Why, you heard 
him to-day. We didn’t tell him, for a while, 
of the trick we had played on him, until we 
saw whether he was cured or not. Then we 
told him. 

He just laughed. I think he had begun to 
guess it, when he saw that Ross Leyton was 
really anything but meek, and well able to 
stand up for himself. 

“ I ought to be eternally grateful to you 
fellows,” he said, “ for pulling me out of that 
slough. And I tell you,” he went on to say, 
“ for the cure of bashfulness there’s nothing 
like getting mad, fighting mad, — in a right- 
eous cause.” 


FORTUNATE POTHOOKS 

ED ALBRIGHT was a boy that 

O O O 1-110 -foi-l-lllTT Orttz-I 



had “ notions,” as his family said. 
Now, “ notions ” are not neces- 


sarily bad things to have, as I propose to show 
you- 

He had graduated (valedictorian, if you 
care to know) from the high school of Green- 
ville. His father had no money to send him 
to college, so he sent him to the leading vil- 
lage grocery instead. “ That’s next best to 
college, if the boy keeps his eyes in his head,” 
Mr. Albright declared. I am inclined to think 
that Mr. Albright was correct in his view. 

But Ned got a notion. 

It came one day as he watched Miss Car- 


ii8 Look Alive! 

penter, the book-keeper, while the grocer, old 
Samuel Blake, painfully dictated a letter to 
her. Miss Carpenter did not know much 
about shorthand, but she knew enough to get 
down her employer’s halting sentences; for, 
though Mr. Blake’s mind worked slowly, his 
fingers worked still more slowly with a pen, 
and the newfangled mode of letter-writing 
was a great relief to him. His correspond- 
ence consisted of only two or three letters a 
day, but he was delighted to have a book- 
keeper to whom he could talk them off. 

To Ned it was a marvelous process. He 
watched Miss Carpenter’s pudgy hand. It 
seemed scarcely to move, and it certainly 
made only a few marks on the paper, yet she 
easily kept up with Mr. Blake’s tongue, and 
had minutes to spare for looking out of the 
dusty window, over the piled-up boxes, into 
Mrs. Brown’s garden with its hollyhocks. 

“How do you do it?” he asked her one 
day, in profound admiration. 

“ Why,” she replied, “ it’s as easy as easy. 
Say something.” 

“ I — I — can’t think of anything to say.” 

“ Well, I’ll write that. See this little back- 


Fortunate Pothooks 119 

ward jerk? That’s an ‘ I,’ when it’s hitched 
on to another word. So I go on with a little 
straight line for k and a hook on it for n 
and I make it half as long as usual to add ty 
and so I have ‘ I kan’t.’ ” 

“ But ‘ can ’ is spelled with a r/’ Ned ob- 
jected. 

“ C has no sound,” Miss Carpenter an- 
swered, wisely. “ Sometimes it is really an s 
and sometimes a k. This time it’s a k. In 
shorthand you spell according to the sound.” 

“ Just as we ought to spell in longhand,” 
Ned agreed, greatly pleased. “ But where’s 
your vowel? ” 

‘‘ You don’t need vowels, anyway for the 
common words. The consonants are enough, 
as you would soon find out.” 

“ What a saving of time ! ” Ned exclaimed. 
“ And of brains ! ” he added. “ But go on 
with your sentence, please.” 

“ Well, ‘ think ’ is this curved upright 
mark. It really is only th, but th stands for 
‘ think ’ in shorthand.” 

“ Seems to me you leave out a lot,” Ned 
grumbled. 

“ That’s how we get ahead of the tongue. 


120 


Look Alive! 


Ned. No hand could keep up with the 
tongue if it had to set down every sound. It 
would be impossible.” 

“Well, and ‘of’?” 

“ Just another little mark, like the ‘ I,’ only 
in the other direction. And ‘ anything ’ is an 
n and an ng joined together, — two horizontal 
curves, the first light and the second heavy. 
See?” 

“And ‘to’?” 

“ Another tick, like the ‘ of,’ only on the 
line; that was above it.” 

“ My! what a lot you have to remember! ” 
And Ned looked at Miss Carpenter with new 
admiration. 

She laughed. “ I never think of it,” she 
said. “ When you do it a while, it comes as 
easily as breathing.” 

“Well, and ‘say’?” 

“ Just an s, made the opposite of the th. 
And, if you want to, you can leave out the 
‘ to ’ and write the s under the line. That 
would mean that there is a ‘ to ’ before it. So 
that your whole sentence is boiled down to 
five characters, each simpler than a single let- 
ter in the longhand. Let’s see. You make 


Fortunate Pothooks 12 1 

one — two — three — you make eight motions, 
in all. And in writing It In longhand — let’s 
see — you have made eight strokes before you 
have finished the third letter; and there are 
twenty-five letters, not to speak of the dots on 
the i’s, the crosses on the /’s, and the 
apostrophe.” 

‘‘ That’s mighty Interesting,” said Ned. 

“ Say I do you think I could ” 

But just then a customer came In, and the 
young clerk had to provide her with a can 
of tomatoes and half a pound of cheese. 

The notion, however, had been formed. It 
was a very busy day, as It turned out, but 
the notion had opportunity to grow. By 
shuttIng-up time that night — and the village 
grocery never closed before eight — the notion 
had reached Its full size. 

“ Miss Carpenter,” Ned Inquired, ap- 
proaching the book-keeper as she was put- 
ting her books away for the night and lock- 
ing the drawer of her desk, “ Is there a book 
that tells about those pothooks ? ” 

“ You mean about shorthand? Of course. 
Would you like to borrow It, and study? I 
keep It here, In case I forget some point, but 


12^ 


Look Alive! 


I haven’t looked at It for months, and you 
are welcome to it, If you’d like to study it. 
And I’ll help you, too.” 

“ Why, that’s prime I ” said Ned, grate- 
fully; and he went off home carrying a sub- 
stantial volume, “ The Standard System of 
Phonography.” 

It was eleven o’clock that night, I am sorry 
to say, before Ned went to bed. Some young 
fellows need to try many pursuits before they 
find the one for which they were made; but 
when they do find it, they lit Into It with de- 
lightful alacrity. Have you ever seen a ma- 
chine distributing type? Along come the bits 
of metal In a swift row, a, e, x, w, and all 
the rest of them, a motley throng. They pass 
over a series of slots, each notched In a differ- 
ent way, and the notches In the w, for In- 
stance, fit Into no slot but the w slot. It slides 
over the a slot and the e slot and the x slot 
and makes no sign; but the Instant It comes to 
the w slot, pffi down it goes. That Is the 
way with these experimenting young fellows 
when they come to their own slots In life. 

And If enjoyment proved anything, short- 
hand was Ned’s slot. He was a logical young 


'Fortunate Pothooks 


1213 


fellow, and he was delighted with the reason- 
ableness of it. No ei's and f^’s, no ough's 
and phth^s. Every sound had its symbol, and 
every symbol had its sound, and there was no 
possible confusion. 

Then, Ned was a go-ahead sort of chap, 
and he was delighted with the speed of short- 
hand. He began to use it at once in his 
own writing. “ As soon,” he remarked, “ as 
you know that a dot above the line means 
‘ the,’ you have saved yourself eight strokes 
every time the word comes along, and that’s 
several times a sentence.” 

“ You’d think Ned was lazy, to hear him 
talk about. ‘ saving strokes,’ ” said Mrs. Al- 
bright, after Ned had made some such re- 
mark. 

“ Well, ‘ time is money ’ you know, 
mother,” Ned answered. 

It was not all smooth sailing, and Ned 
was obliged to seek Miss Carpenter’s busi- 
ness-college lore. The shon-hooks and the 
tive-hooks and the es-circles and the ses-cir- 
cles and the n-ses-circles and the rel’s and the 
per’s and the weh’s and yuh’s and all the 
other mysteries of the art came along rather 


124 


Look Alive! 


fast even for a high-school graduate with a 
very clear head. 

“ A fellow learns one of them,’* Ned com- 
plained, “ and then the next one knocks it 
out; there are so many of them.” 

The word-signs were his despair, at first, 
especially as he insisted upon plunging into 
the full reportorial list. “ I want to be able 
to take down the fastest speaker that ever 
galloped, — a Phillips Brooks, if he should 
come along,” Ned declared ambitiously. 
“Why, it’s no trick at all to take letters; 
from Mr. Blake, anyway. I could follow 
him in /ow^hand.” 

Every member of the family was made a 
martyr to Ned’s “ notion.” The boy’s ap- 
petite for dictating was never satisfied. If 
he saw his father reading the newspaper, it 
was, “ O father ! please read out loud, so I 
can practice on you! ” If his sister Nell was 
writing a letter, it was, “ O Nell! please read 
out loud what you have written; and read 
slowly, now, just as if you were dictating it.” 
If his little brother Will was studying his 
history lesson, it was, “ Will ! What’ll you 
take to study out loud? I’m practicing on 


Fortunate Pothooks 125 

proper names, and your history is just the 
thing.” 

The family caught Ned with his fingers 
making imaginary shorthand signs in the air 
as they conversed at breakfast. They de- 
clared that he dreamed in shorthand. 

“But what’s the use of it, Ned?” asked 
Nell. “ You’re just wasting your time over 
those pothooks.” 

“ O, you never can tell,” was Ned’s reply. 
“ It’s a good thing to know; I’ve got a lot 
out of it already. It’s better mental disci- 
pline, as they call it, than mathematics. Why, 
Nell, you’ve got to think as fast as light- 
ning! ” 

“ But you’ll never make any practical use 
of it,” Nell continued to object. 

“ Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” Ned 
answered. “ Anyway, it’s prime fun.” 

So Ned stuck to his “ notion ” for several 
months. He got far beyond Miss Carpenter, 
who acknowledged that she had no more to 
teach him. He drilled himself on the prac- 
tice exercises in the manual till he knew them 
by heart. He became perfect in his word- 
signs. He sent for the reporter’s handbook 


126 


Look Alive! 


and the reader, and when he was not accom- 
panied by one of them it was because he was 
accompanied by the other. He seized every 
opportunity for drill, and “ took ” indiscrim- 
inately the gossip of the grocery loafers and 
all the set addresses he had the chance to 
attend, beside the household importunities I 
have already described. 

He watched his “ speed ” as a young ath- 
lete watches the growing girth of his biceps. 
He rose gradually from fifty words a minute 
to sixty, seventy, a hundred, one hundred and 
fifty. How proud he was when he reached 
that exalted summit, — one hundred and fifty 
words! “Few stenographers,” Miss Car- 
penter told him, “ can write faster than that. 
I can’t begin to do as well.” 

But there were some speakers in town 
whom Ned could not yet “ take.” There was 
his uncle Jim, for instance. He persuaded 
that gentleman occasionally to read the news- 
paper out loud, and the way his glib tongue 
galloped through the columns was Ned’s de- 
spair. One day he timed him for a minute 
and then counted the words. There were two 
hundred and fifty of them. From that day 


Fortunate Pothooks 


127 


Ned had a new goal. He must become able 
to write two hundred and fifty words a min- 
ute. 

Did he reach the goal? 

You do not know Ned Albright, or you 
would not ask the question! Of course he 
did; though to lift his speed from one hun- 
dred and fifty words a minute to two hundred 
and fifty cost him twice as much work as to 
get it up to the first notch. But he did not 
mind the work. It was not work at all, it was 
play; and the play was all the more enjoyable 
because the game was difficult. 

By this time he was taking a shorthand 
magazine. In it he read of reportorial 
triumphs that fired his blood. He learned of 
the feats of expert shorthand writers, and 
became emulous of their achievements. 
Night after night, till his drowsy eyes com- 
pelled him to stop, he dashed away at his 
pothooks, or read his notes after they had 
grown “ cold.” Day after day, whatever 
time could be obtained after his regular work 
was faithfully done was joyfully spent upon 
the beautiful art. 

One afternoon, while Ned’s zeal for short- 


128 


Look Alive! 


hand continued to burn, an interesting word 
was passed around among the shops of 
Greenville. The notice was also given out 
in the public schools. It was printed on a 
hasty handbill, which was tacked upon trees 
and flung around in doorways. 

The news was this, that the Hon. William 
L. Sanderson, candidate for Governor, 
chanced to be in the village for business, and 
that he had consented to remain for the even- 
ing and address the citizens in the school hall 
at 7 130. 

This was indeed a rare opportunity for 
Greenville. Sanderson was the editor of the 
leading newspaper of the State, The Tribune, 
He was a magnificent orator, and an experi- 
enced and influential politician. His oppo- 
nent, however, was also an able man, and the 
contest was a close one, as all admitted. 

It goes without saying that the school hall 
was crowded long before 7 130, and it also 
goes without saying that in the very front 
row was Ned with his note-book. 

“ Sanderson,” said he to his family as he 
left their bench to go forward, “ is said to 


Fortunate Pothooks 


129 


be a cyclone of a talker. I want to be right 
up close, and see if I can keep up with him.” 

Before the gubernatorial candidate had 
spoken ten sentences, Ned knew that he had 
hot work before him; but he squared his 
elbows and bent over his note-book with de- 
termination. 

“ I’ll hang to him ! ” said the boy, grimly. 
“ I’ll not let him shake me off I ” And he 
felt the grit of a bull-dog. 

Ah, what a speech that was I Never, in all 
his long career, had Sanderson equaled it. 
The conditions were just right. The audi- 
ence was small, but it crowded the room, and 
so seemed larger than it was. Moreover, it 
was tumultuously appreciative of every point. 
It laughed heartily where it should laugh, 
and was hushed at any bits of pathos, and 
applauded thunderously at every telling argu- 
ment. Best of all, there was present a keen- 
witted old warhorse of the opposite political 
party, who interjected a sharp question now 
and then. Those questions were all that was 
needed in addition to spur the editor to a 
superb oratorical success. 


130 


Look Alive! 


How the sentences clashed and flashed! 
How the words rolled and tumbled after one 
another, a mountain torrent of language! 
Without an instant’s hesitation, without bun- 
gling a word or mending a phrase, the swift 
speech hurled itself along. Metaphors 
darted into place. Adjectives found their 
nouns instinctively. Fit anecdotes, telling 
sarcasm, bold invective, figures in armored 
array, all were at hand and all were used. 
It was a masterpiece. 

And Ned, meanwhile? 

Ah, that was a test worth having! His 
pencil was soon worn to the bone. Out of 
his pocket came another, for he had provided 
himself with a battery of them. Another, 
and then another. “ Here ! sharpen this for 
me ! ” he begged his neighbor, for he had no 
instant to do it himself. 

How his fingers flew, whipped on by his 
flying brain! They grew stiff and numb. 
Would a pause never come? Ned felt his 
head reel. Words, words, words^ words! 
He was trying with a tin cup to dip up the 
ocean as it rolled in. He was trying with a 
broom to beat back a prairie fire. He was 



«* How his fingers flew, whipped on by his flying brain ! ” 







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Fortunate Pothooks 13 1 

lashed to a runaway horse and must run as 
fast, or be choked to death. Ned clinched 
his teeth. His hand gripped his pencil harder 
and harder. His brain grew tense and his 
eyes began to smart. Ah, no one that has 
not tried it can imagine a young reporter’s 
sensations as he tries to “ take ” verbatim his 
first rapid speaker! 

At last, of a sudden, — something snapped 
in the air! There was silence! Ned looked 
up, startled. Mr. Sanderson had stopped. 
He was actually bowing and sitting down, 
while the audience burst into rapturous 
cheers. 

Our reporter had worked himself into such 
a frenzy of attention and execution that this 
change was most startling. It made him 
dizzy and faint. He felt as if he must go 
on, as if it was all a mistake and he was 
missing something, as if he ought to be writ- 
ing, dotting down the interminable, chasing 
pothooks. But no; it was really over. Old 
Colonel Parsons was droning through his 
closing words of congratulation, and Ned had 
the proud satisfaction of knowing that his 
notebook held the whole of the wonderful 


132 Look Alive! 

speech. The orator had not been able to 
shake him off. 

“ Glorious, Sanderson, glorious I ” ex- 
claimed Mr. Sample, Greenville’s leading 
politician, as he rushed up to the perspiring 
orator. “You never spoke better! You have 
made the speech of the campaign, the speech 
of your life.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Sanderson, “ I did have 
full swing. I felt In better trim for It than 
ever before. I’d give a hundred dollars. 
Sample, If there’d been a reporter here. I’ve 
a use for just that speech In The Tribune^ and 
I could never In the world write It out, — at 
least, so It would be as good. Oh, how I 
should like to have It, with those questions 
and all! I suppose, of course, there was no 
reporter here? I saw a young fellow In the 
front row taking notes vigorously.” 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Sample, “ that was only 
Ned Albright. He’s taken a notion after 
shorthand lately, and he’s practicing. That’s 
all. He probably got only a sentence here 
and there. But we’ll call him. He’s a likely 
young fellow, and he’d be proud to say he 
had met you.” 


Fortunate Pothooks 


133 


Well, the result of that interview was that 
Ned went home with his head in the air and 
his note-book held tightly in his hand. And 
he spent the entire night, or what remained of 
it, writing- out his notes of that remarkable 
oration. 

They were crabbed notes. They were 
quite different from the prim and neatly 
shaded pothooks of the grocery store and 
the sitting-room. But, as Ned said after- 
wards, they were “ all there.” He had not 
drilled those months in vain. And he was 
able to take to Mr. Sanderson, before train- 
time the next morning, the most accurate re- 
port of one of his whirlwind addresses that 
that orator had ever had the pleasure of 
reading. 

That’s all. 

Or, no; that isn’t quite all. For, two days 
later, Ned received a letter whose envelope 
bore the magic words. The Tribune. Out 
of it, as he opened it, fell a check for one 
hundred dollars. “ I said I would give this 
sum for an accurate report of that speech,” 
the letter ran, “ and I send it herewith. The 
report was worth that to me, easily. And 


134 


Look Alive! 


now, young man, I want you. I want you, 
in the first place, to go with me on this cam- 
paign and take my speeches. You do it bet- 
ter than any stenographer I ever met. And 
then, when the campaign is over, there’ll be 
a place for you, if you want it, with The 
Tribune, Don’t refuse this offer without 
thinking twice.” 

Did Ned refuse it? 

I leave you to guess. 


XII 

RONALD THURBER, 
GYMNAST 

T he boys of Brockton were fine fel- 
lows, but they undoubtedly needed 
some one to wake them up. And 
that some one came. 

Brockton is a small town, situated ten 
miles from Columbus, Ohio. It is ignorant 
of city airs, and many of its inhabitants en- 
gage in the peaceful pursuit of market gar- 
dening, for which the rich valley of the Scioto 
gives special facilities. Others are grocers, 
keepers of drygoods stores, and the like, min- 
istering to the needs of the farmers. 

The boys of this quiet town led a calm 
existence, their chief excitement being the 
135 


Look Alive! 


136 

passage of a circus on its gorgeous way to 
Columbus, or an occasional runaway of Dr. 
Thomas’s skittish gray mare. It meant a 
great deal to those boys when the Thurber 
family moved down from Columbus. 

Judge Thurber was a distinguished lawyer. 
He had served in the State legislature, and 
there was even talk of nominating him for 
governor. He had two very charming 
daughters, but that was a mere nothing to 
the boys of Brockton. What aroused their 
interest was the fact that he had a son. of 
“ just the right age.” 

And when Ronald arrived, that young man 
lost no time in deepening the impression that 
had been made by advance rumors. He was 
a showy lad, with curly black hair, fine dark 
eyes, dancing-school manners, and clothes 
made by the very best Columbus tailors. His 
air proclaimed the fact that he thought he 
was doing Brockton a great favor by coming 
to live 'in it, but his smile, exhibiting his large 
white teeth, was beautifully condescending. 
He soon became the hero of the village boys, 
and it was enough to settle any dispute if one 
of those engaged in it should say, confidently, 


Ronald Thurher^ Gymnast 137 

“ Well, that’s what Ronald Thurber says, 
anyhow ! ” 

“ What do you fellows do? ” drawled this 
magnificent youth, as he lounged on the grass 
in Phil Howard’s front yard, surrounded by 
a group of admirers. “ I’ve been a month, 
now, in this forsaken old place, and I can’t 
discover that you do anything whatever.” 

“ We go to school,” ventured Phil. 

“ Huh I School ! I mean, what fun do 
you have? ” 

“ Well, we go fishing.” 

“ Yes, with worms, and get — minnows. 
Now you ought to see my pole and reel and 
my flies! I’ll show them to you some day. 
The whole outfit cost ten dollars, and that’s 
more than all the fishing tackle in Brockton 
cost, put together.” 

The boys were silent and envious. Most 
of them were uncertain what “ flies ” had to 
do with the matter, but they did not intend 
to expose their ignorance. 

“ And we go swimming.” 

“ But where? In that muddy river. Now 
up at the city, in our gym, we have the dan- 
diest swimming tank you ever saw. Marble 


Look Alive! 


138 

sides, and eight feet deep at one edge, and 
springboards for diving, and rubber collars 

to learn with, and ” 

“I s’pose you can swim like a duck?” 
Ed Berry inquired, respectfully. 

“ Swim I Well, rather ! Do you fellows 
know the Lamson stroke ? ” 

No, they didn’t. 

“ Or the Sears stroke? ” 

Nor that, either. All the boys in the lit- 
tle company were quite as much at home in 
the water as on shore, but they were evi- 
dently behind the times, and they felt it. 
There was a depressed silence. 

“That gym is great! ” Ronald proceeded. 
“ Parallel bars, — whoop ! Over you go I 
And punching bags, and ladders, and clubs, 
and chest-weights, and basket ball, and sta- 
tionary bicycles, and rowing machines, and 
running track, and swinging rings, and dumb- 
bells, and leather horses, and wands, and — 
oh, no end of apparatus. Now, I don’t sup- 
pose any of you boys ever used any of those 
pieces.” 

No, none of them had. 

“ No wonder your muscles are flabby.” 


Ronald Thurher^ Gymnast 139 

(As a matter of fact, Ronald saw before him 
a set of boys whose muscles were firm, sup- 
ple, and well developed; but just then they 
felt as weak as a baby’s.) 

“ I suppose,” said Paul Brown, “ you can 
do no end of tricks in the gymnasium? ” 
“Well, I should say so! You just ought 
to see me do my act on the high trapeze! 
It’s a hair-raiser, I tell you! And as for 
running — how far can you fellows run with- 
out getting winded?” 

No one knew. They hadn’t tried. 

Ronald looked at them with scorn. “ Now 
if you had a running track, all measured off, 
you would know, and you might develop, 
some of you, into very decent runners. I’d 
like to teach you. Say, fellows, that gives 
me an idea ! It’s a great idea ! ” 

He paused impressively. 

“ What is it? ” the boys cried, expectantly. 
“ Well, it’s this. How would it do to or- 
ganize the Brockton Athletic Club? We 
could have uniforms, and we could get a few 
pieces of apparatus, and gradually we could 
build up a gymnasium. And I would be 
your captain,” he added graciously. 


140 


Look Alive! 


“ Say, that would be fine I ” exclaimed 
Phil. 

“ Fine I ” the other boys echoed. 

“ I have a dumbbell,” Jack Folsom an- 
nounced. 

But Ronald withered him with a look of 
scorn. One dumbbell I You can’t do any- 
thing without two! Now that just shows 
how much you fellows know about it. I 
guess I didn’t come to Brockton any too 
soon.” 

Jack was inclined to take umbrage at this, 
but he was too thoroughly under the spell 
which the newcomer had thrown over the 
boys. 

They were soon eagerly discussing plans 
for the new club. The membership was an 
important matter. Who should be invited 
to join? 

“ There’s Scotty Blake,” said Paul Brown. 
“ He doesn’t go much with us fellows, but 
he’s rich.” 

“ Then we want him,” Ronald said, deci- 
sively. “ He will be useful when we come to 
build a gymnasium.” 

“ Build a gymnasium I ” 


Ronald Thurber^ Gymnast 141 

“Whew!” 

“ Build a ” 

Here was a boy with large ideas. They 
looked with even increased admiration at their 
captain. 

“ And there’s Lispy Lawson,” Jack Fol- 
som suggested. 

The name was received with a chorus of 
jeers. 

“ Lithpy Lawthon I ” 

“ Hoo-00-00 ! ” 

“ Why, he’s as green as grass.” 

“ Do you mean,” Ronald inquired, “ that 
funny, fluffy-haired fellow, — the family just 
moved in from the country? ” 

“ Yes. Moved into the Adams place.” 

“ It’s a fine place,” Ronald mused. “ His 
father must be worth money.” 

“ Rich as mud,” Phil asserted. “ He owns 
half a dozen farms back in the country, and 
he owns the flour mill down at Lyford’s. 
But all the fellows make fun of Lispy, he lisps 
so. 

“ Well, we want some one in the club to 
make sport, and he’s just the one,” Ronald 
declared “ We’ll have him.” 


142 


Look Alive! 


No one thought of disputing the word of 
the captain, so that Lispy Lawson was added 
to the list. 

The numbers grew rapidly, until twenty- 
five boys were enrolled. They decided to 
limit the number to a quarter of a hundred. 
“ For the present,” said Ronald, with his 
grand air, “ until we see what location we can 
obtain.” 

Twenty-five boys are a goodly crowd, and 
you may be sure they all accepted the invita- 
tion to join. The first meeting, which was 
held on Ronald’s lawn, would have been a 
scene of great confusion if it had not been 
for the respectful attention paid to the lad 
from Columbus. As captain he issued his 
orders superbly, and every one obeyed. 

The difficult question of a uniform was 
promptly settled, for Ronald appeared in a 
white sweater upon which his sister Florence 
had embroidered, in big blue letters, “ B. A. 
C.” Red rays started out from these letters, 
and ran in all directions. The effect was 
gorgeous. A white yachting cap, also marked 
“ B. A. C.,” completed the costume. The 
boys were charmed. 


Ronald Thurber, Gymnast 143 

A committee on a constitution, headed by 
Ronald, was duly appointed, to report at the 
next meeting. 

Then came a pause. What was to be done 
next ? 

“ That’s the trouble,” said Ronald, In dis- 
gust. “We can’t do anything without ap- 
paratus, and there Is nothing In this town, 
absolutely nothing as a basis for athletics — 
not even a tennis court for a tournament.” 

“ I have a croquet ground,” said Jack Fol- 
som ; but the announcement was received with 
a tumult of ridicule. Ronald had lifted their 
Ideas far above croquet. 

Phil spoke up. “ Until we can get some 
ap-ap-apparatus,” he said, “ we’ll have to 
think of some athletic business that doesn’t 
need It — them.” 

“ There is nothing,” Ronald replied. 
“ You can’t do a thing without apparatus, 
not a single, solitary thing.” 

“ There’th a Marathon run,” LIspy Law- 
son suggested, bashfully. 

“A Marathon run? What’s that?” 
several of the boys Inquired. 

But Paul Brown was better Informed. 


144 


Look Alive! 


“ It’s a twenty-five mile run,” he explained, 
“ in imitation of that run from Marathon to 
Athens. One of the Greeks, you know, after 
the battle of Marathon, ran that distance to 
tell the people in Athens about the victory. 
And now they have such a run into Boston 
every year. And they have it at the Olympic 
games.” 

“ I read about it this year,” Scotty Blake 
put in. “ There were more than a hundred 
entries, and an Indian won.” 

“ But twen-ty-five miles! ” exclaimed Jack 
Folsom. “Whew! Excuse 

“ No,” said Lispy Lawson, modestly com- 
ing to the defense of his proposal. “ I didn’t 
mean to run it thraight off, but to practith up 
to it. We might begin with a walk, thay to 
Columbus and back.” 

“Ten miles there and ten miles back I 
Whew I ” exclaimed Jack again. 

“ But it would be great fun,” said Paul 
Brown. 

Ronald felt that it was time to assert him- 
self, or it would be forgotten that he was in 
command. 

“ That’s a perfectly absurd idea I ” he de- 


Ronald Thurber^ Gymnast 145 

dared. “ A twenty-mile tramp I Who ever 
heard of an athletic club’s going out walking? 
Nonsense! ” 

“ It’th what they call an enduranth tetht,” 
said Lispy Lawson. 

Ronald looked at him sharply. What was 
he, to be talking about “ endurance tests ”? 

“ I thuppoth, Ronald,” Lispy asked po- 
litely, “ that thuch an enduranth tetht would 
be a mere nothing to you? ” 

“ Of course! ” Ronald asserted with indig- 
nation. “ I hope you don’t think you could 
tire me out! You ought to have seen me at 
the end of the pedestrian contest our club had 
last May. Why, I was fresh as a daisy ! ” 

“ Then you could show us just how to do 
it,” Paul said. “ It seems to me there’s 
something in Lispy’s Marathon idea, and a 
walk to Columbus and back would be a first- 
rate starter. And when we are there, Ronald 
could show us his gymnasium.” 

The last suggestion caught the club at once. 

“ The very thing! ” they all cried. “ And 
we could see just what we need to have in 
Brockton ! ” 

For the first time, the captain found him- 


Look Alive! 


146 

self carried away by the wishes of the rest, 
and the matter was settled in spite of his at- 
tempted objections. 

“ It isn’t regular,” he said gloomily. “ It 
isn’t at all the thing to do. I don’t approve 
of it at all.” But, somehow, he found him- 
self entering into the plans for the despised 
twenty-mile walk. 

The boys were so enthusiastic that they 
voted to go the very next day. Ronald 
wanted them to wait till they could go in uni- 
form, but they said they could do something 
else in uniform as soon as they had the uni- 
forpis to do something else in. “ But let’s do 
something now, without waiting,” Phil urged. 

“ Thtrike while the iron ith hot,” said 
Lispy Lawson. 

You’ll be hot enough before you get back 
home again,” Ronald grumbled. “ The idea 
of an athletic club’s going off on a tramp ! ” 

They were to meet, promptly after break- 
fast, at eight o’clock, in the captain’s front 
yard. They were not to take lunches, but to 
buy twenty-five cent meals at a restaurant in 
the city. And they expected to be back in 
ample time for supper. These plans being 


Ronald Thurher^ Gymnast 147 

laid, the club adjourned and the members went 
home to get the consent of their parents to 
the expedition. 

There were some objections, for the boys 
had never gone so far alone, and the very 
word, “ city,” struck terror to the hearts of 
some of the mothers. But as so many were 
going in a body, and as they were going under 
the guidance of a former resident of Colum- 
bus, and especially such a personage as the 
son of Judge Thurber, all objections were 
finally silenced. 

The morning dawned beautifully fair, an 
ideal August day. It would be very hot, and 
some of the boys had wished to start at six, 
eating paper-bag breakfasts on the way. 
This proposal, however, had been vetoed by 
Captain Ronald. “ We need a good hot 
meal to start out on,” he said, “ and a good 
night’s sleep back of it. I don’t fancy these 
early rising performances. Besides*, no one 
would see us start at that unearthly hour.” 

The entire membership gathered on Judge 
Thurber’s lawn, and the Judge himself made 
them a little parting speech, coming out on 
the porch in his dressing gown and slippers. 


148 


Look Alive! 


It was a flowery speech, full of references to 
Marathon and the Greeks and the Olympic 
games. The boys thought it fine, and gave 
the Judge three hearty cheers on its conclusion. 

“Form twos!’’ shouted Captain Thurber 
through a trumpet he wore at his side. 

The club hastily obeyed, and stood in a 
dignified line along the gravel walk. 

Ronald placed himself at their head. 
“ Forward — march 1 ” he cried, and the 
Brockton Athletic Club gallantly strode away. 

The procession was led, in the middle of 
the road, through the main street. Needless 
to say, it aroused much comment. 

“Where are those boys going?” asked 
every one. 

“Hey! What’s up, boys?” called the 
village wag. “Torchlight procession? 
Wrong time o’ day, boys ! ” 

Ronald kept a dignified silence and looked 
straight before him, striding on with a most 
stately air. The rest of the club, in the main, 
copied his bearing as well as they could. So 
they marched through the village, and out 
into the sweet country, shimmering in the 
August sunshine. 


Ronald ThurheVy Gymnast 149 

But before they had gone a mile, that sun 
became very uncomfortable. 

“ Whew I Going to be a scorcher of a 
day I ” grumbled Paul Brown, fanning him- 
self with his hat. 

One by one, without asking consent of the 
captain, the boys took off their coats and 
trudged along in their shirtsleeves. After 
leaving town the line had become broken, and 
the club straggled out disreputably. Captain 
Thurber evidently did not mind this, so long 
as no one saw them but an occasional farmer. 
“ It’s a go-as-you-please, fellows,” he said, 
“ until we come to Beaver. Then you must 
fall in again.” 

But, alas ! before they came to Beaver the 
line was sadly lengthened, for Beaver was 
four miles out, and the day grew hot with 
savage rapidity. 

There had been much joking and merry 
banter, with frequent running forward and 
shouting backward. Now a strange and de- 
pressing silence settled over the company, and 
they plodded on in a dogged fashion, the 
perspiration running down their faces into 
their eyes and ears. The jesting ceased, and 


150 


Look Alive! 


there was no more visiting back and forth 
among the groups. For the most part, they 
still walked in pairs, but widely sundered. 

Ronald had maintained his place at the 
head, but his confident air had melted away in 
the heat, and those near him observed a de- 
cided limp, growing rapidly more marked. 
He looked back, as they reached the outskirts 
of Beaver. The end of the line was invisible. 
No one was in his immediate neighborhood 
but Jack Folsom and Lispy Lawson. 

Disgustedly, Captain Thurber threw him- 
self on the ground under a thick-leaved 
hickory. 

Such walking I never did see ! ” he com- 
plained. “ I suppose we’ll have to wait for 
those babies. I want to go through Beaver 
in style.” 

Gradually the boys came up, their faces red 
and wet. Some of them were limping and 
many of them were grumbling at the weather. 

“ Don’t you withh ’twath a Marathon run, 
inthtead of a practith walk? ” Lispy inquired 
of the most bedraggled group. 

He himself was fresh and cool. He wore 
a light outing suit, with roomy shoes. His 


Ronald Thurber^ Gymnast 15 1 

hat was of the whitest and thinnest straw. 
He moved about among the boys with an easy 
gait, making jolly remarks in his drawling 
lisp. Someway, no one seemed inclined to 
poke fun at him. 

Ronald, in the meantime, was sounding the 
boys in his immediate neighborhood. 

“How do you like it, eh? Not so much 
fun as you thought, is it? I told you sol 
This isn’t athletics I We’re just making 
ordinary tramps of ourselves. Who are 
ready to go back? ” 

But no one seemed willing to return. 

“ Oh, we don’t want to back out now! 
exclaimed Phil. 

Lispy Lawson had overheard. 

“ Thith ith an enduranth tetht,” he said, 
quietly. “ We have endured only four 
mileth. Thafth not muth.” 

Ronald saw he had taken the wrong posi- 
tion, so he turned it off with a laugh. 

“ Oh, I only wanted to try your mettle,” 
he said. Then he rose, somewhat slowly and 
jerkily, and shouted through his trumpet, 
“ Form twos I But put on your coats first,” 
he added. 


152 


Look 'Alive! 


The parade through Beaver was even more 
impressive than the march through Brockton, 
since Beaver was a smaller village, and curi- 
osity was so much the greater and more 
demonstrative. The attention won seemed to 
put new life into Captain Thurber. He 
strutted at the head of the procession with 
considerable vim, and his face, back of the 
perspiration, wore a gratified smile. 

Beaver once passed, however, the limp be- 
came painfully evident again, and the re- 
nowned leader wilted into a very forlorn 
pedestrian. He moved more and more slowly, 
so that at every rod a new member of the 
company caught up with him. They all, 
however, respectfully remained in the rear of 
the captain. 

Ronald wore fashionable shoes, sharp- 
pointed at the toes. Moreover, he had on 
his gaily ornamented sweater and his yacht- 
ing cap, which was heavy and which had com- 
pletely lost its jaunty air. 

Half a mile beyond Beaver, Ronald’s gait 
became a crawl. His face twitched with 
pain at every step. In spite of himself, he 


Ronald Thurher, Gymnast 153 

groaned aloud. At last he bade his followers 
move on. 

“ Go right ahead, fellows. I’ll stay in the 
rear and look after the stragglers. Such a 
set of walkers I never did see. I’ll be the 
rear-guard awhile, and see if I can’t keep you 
together a little better. Forward — march! ” 
And Captain Thurber allowed the club to pass 
him, falling in after they had all gone by. 

Falling in ” is a correct term, for his 
march had by this time become a series of 
stumbles. Lispy Lawson had retired with 
him, and it was to Lispy that he confided his 
determination. 

“ I’m going back to Beaver,” he said, with 
firmness. “ I’ve thought of something. It 
would be better for me to go on by train, and 
get to Columbus long enough ahead to go to 
the gym and make arrangements. Rushing 
off as we have, without any warning, I had no 
chance to make any arrangements. You see? 
That would be better, wouldn’t it? ” he asked 
anxiously. 

“ Why, yeth,’^ answered Lispy. “ It ther- 
tainly would be better — for you; and for 


154 


Look Alive! 


uth,” he added considerately. “ If you hurry 
back to Beaver, you’ll be in time to catch the 
nine o’clock from Brockton.” 

“ Well, I’ll do that. It’s my duty, as cap- 
tain, to make arrangements at the gym. 
Sorry to leave you all; tell them so, Lispy. 
And explain why it is necessary, won’t you? ” 

Yes, Lispy would. 

“ And tell them to keep up the pace, will 
you? Keep up the pace! ” 

Yes, Lispy promised to tell them to keep up 
the pace. 

“ Then you’ll find me waiting for you on 
the capitol steps,” said Ronald. “ Good- 
by 1 ” And he turned back to Beaver. 

Lispy watched him limping off, and there 
was a twinkle in Lispy’s eye. 

“ A poor excuthe ith better than none 1 ” he 
muttered to himself. Then, in a light, swing- 
ing trot, he caught up with the club. 

“ The captain’th gone on ahead 1 ” he cried. 
“ By train. To make arrangementh at the 
gym. He ith thorry to leave uth. He thayth 
to keep up the pathe.” These sentences were 
flung out as Lispy passed the various groups 
at his easy trot. 


Ronald ThurheVy Gymnast 155 

“ Well, Lispy isn’t playing out,” said more 
than one. “ Lispy’s a good ’un.” 

There were differences of opinion concern- 
ing the absent leader. “ That’s a lame ex- 
cuse I ” declared Scotty Blake, who had him- 
self developed a slight limp. 

“ Yes, lame in two senses,” Phil Howard 
chuckled. 

But the majority of the club remained loyal. 

“ Perhaps he wanted to order a spread at 
the gym,” some of them ventured to guess. 
“ My ! wouldn’t lemonade be prime when we 
get there ! And ice-cream ! ” 

For the rest of the walk, Lispy was the un- 
doubted leader. He was unruffled by the 
weather, and he seemed as comfortable as 
when he started. His brisk step was an in- 
spiration to the boys. Now and then he 
trotted down the line and up again, drawling 
out his comical remarks, encouraging the 
stragglers to renewed efforts, and keeping 
every one in good humor. 

“ Cheer up ! ” he would sing out. “ The 
wortht ith yet to come ! ” 

“ On to Athenth ! ” he shouted. “ We beat 
the Perthianth ! ” 


Look Alive! 


156 

“ Hay foot I Thtraw foot ! ” he would 
mark time opposite some weary limper, and 
get him into the swing again. 

Lispy would countenance no talk of turning 
back. ‘‘ It ith farther back than ahead, 
now I ” he reminded the boys. 

Gradually, but oh ! how slowly, Columbus 
drew near. Fenceboard signs began to ad- 
vertise the various emporiums of the capital. 
Carts and carriages grew more numerous. At 
last the street was occupied by an electric car 
line. Some of the boys were for taking 
prompt advantage of this, but Lispy laughed 
them to scorn. 

“ Practith for a Marathon run on the 
thtreet earth!” he cried. “How could you 
appear before your bold captain, getting down 
from a thtreet car? Why, he’d thay you 
rode all the way.” 

“What did he do?” the boys grumbled; 
but they trudged along, and let the street cars 
pass them. 

At last the houses became more numerous, 
the streets became more crowded, and Lispy 
closed up the ranks. 

Shops began to appear. Then more shops. 


Ronald Thurher^ Gymnast 157 

Then business blocks. Then long rows of 
business blocks. Every square took on a 
livelier aspect, and new objects of interest so 
multiplied that the boys soon forgot their 
weariness, and marched with the swing of 
veterans. Lispy kept them on the sidewalks. 
“ We’re not a thircuth,” he remarked, “ and 
we’ll not make a thow of ourthelveth.” 
Nevertheless, many a head was turned after 
the twenty-four merry and interested youths, 
marching so sturdily two by two. 

Lispy led the line without making inquiries. 
“ Been here before,” he explained to his neigh- 
bor. “ Our farm wath only jutht outthide 
the thity.” 

Before long the capitol rose to view, gloom- 
ily impressive with its solid, plain architecture. 
Straight across the capitol grounds Lispy led 
them, to the great stone steps; and there, sure 
enough, was Captain Thurber. 

“Halt!” shouted Lispy, and the boys 
formed a tolerably straight line in front of 
Ronald. 

“ Thalute ! ” Lispy commanded, touching 
his cap In military fashion. The others, in a 
rather straggling way. Imitated him. 


158 


Look Alive! 


“ You have done well, fellows,” said 
Ronald, who had regained his air of easy au- 
thority. “ Really, for amateurs, you have 
done remarkably well. I congratulate you. 
And now, forward, march, to the restaurant ! ” 

With that. Captain Thurber stepped to the 
head of the procession and pompously led the 
way to a large refreshment room in a side 
street near by. It was neat and promising, 
but the tables were crowded, for it was noon. 
However, by zealous efforts, the proprietor 
managed to find seats for the boys, though 
they were scattered all over the room. 

And never before in all the world’s history, 
it is safe to say, was better justice done to a 
twenty-five cent meal. 

The repast being completed, the boys 
gathered in a bunch outside. Their next step 
was uncertain, and all eyes were on Ronald. 

“ How would you like,” he asked, “ to go 
through the state-house? I am very familiar 
with it, you know.” 

Yes, the boys knew, and they looked upon 
Ronald with as much awe as if he himself, 
and not his father, was the ex-legislator. 

“ But how about the gym? ” Paul Brown 


Ronald Thurber^ Gymnast 159 

inquired. “ Hadn’t we better see that first, 
since we came for that? ” 

“ Well, perhaps so,” Ronald answered 
slowly. “ But I’ve been disappointed there a 
little, fellows. You see, they are very strict, 
and they won’t let me do anything but take 
you up on the running track where you can 
look down over the floor. They won’t let us 
go in where the apparatus is. Me, of 
course, they would let in; but I couldn’t get 
permission for the rest of you.” 

“ Well,” spoke up Lispy, “ you can go 
down and thow uth how it all goth, and we 
can watch you from the running track.” 

“ O nol ” Captain Thurber replied hastily. 
“ That would never do I I wouldn’t think of 
being so impolite as to leave my guests.” 

At this, those near Lispy heard him 
chuckle; but he said aloud: “ Come on, then I 
Let’th thee what we can of the gym.” 

Ronald led his company through a succes- 
sion of streets, and at last brought them up 
before the Y. M. C. A. building. “ Take off 
your hats,” he ordered, “ and don’t make any 
noise in here. They’re strict, you know.” 

To Ronald’s immense surprise, Lispy, at 


i6o Look Alive! 

this point, began to walk ahead of him, and 
to nod here and there to various men he met, 
and to the attendants. 

“ You seem quite at home,” said the cap- 
tain of the Brockton Athletic Club. 

“ Thomewhat,” answered Lispy. “ Thay, 
Bronthon, I can take thith crowd into the 
gym, I thuppothe?” 

Certainly, Mr. Lawson,” Bronson re- 
plied; any vfhtvt you wish. You have your 
keys? ” 

“ Yeth,” answered Lispy, while Ronald 
and the other boys listened in amazement. 
Lispy unlocked a door briskly, and ushered 
the boys into a great room whose like they 
had never seen before. From the high ceil- 
ing hung ropes and ladders, while around the 
wall and over the spacious floor were ranged 
innumerable pieces of delightful but myste- 
rious furniture. They were in the gymnasium. 

Lispy turned apologetically to Ronald. 

“ You thaid you couldn’t get uth in on the 
floor, tho I thought I’d thee what I could do,” 
he said. 

“ You’ve been here before, then? ” Ronald 
asked, in a flabby way. 


Ronald Thurber, Gymnast i6i 

“ Yeth,” Lispy answered simply. “ I’ve 
been a member here for thix yearth.” 

Now/^ spoke up Paul, now we want to 
see what our captain can do.” 

“Yes I” “Hurrah for Captain Thur- 
ber! ” “ Now show us how to do it! ” came 
from various members of the club. 

Captain Thurber grew red to the roots of 
his hair. He stammered as he spoke. 

“ N-n-no, n-n-not now. Maybe, b-b-by and 
by. But first let’s 1-1-look around a little, at 
the ap-ap-apparatus.” 

But the company was insistent. 

“ Let’s take it a piece at a time,” Paul sug- 
gested, “ and you explain it, and show us what 
can be done on it. This, for instance.” He 
patted the parallel bars, by which he stood. 

“ Oh,” said Ronald, scornfully, “ those are 
parallel bars. I thought every one under- 
stood about parallel bars.” 

“ Do something for us on them,” said 
Scotty Blake. 

“Yes, yes!” 

“ Do something on them ! ” 

“ Just give us a sample 1 ” 

The members of the club were urgent. 


i 62 


Look Alive! 


Captain Thurber, however, made another 
excuse: “I d-d-don’t want to, in t-t-these 
clothes. I need to have my g-g-gymnasium 
suit on. I can’t do justice to myself without 
a g-g-gymnasium suit.” 

“ We’ll make allowance for that,” Paul 
pleaded; but Ronald was firm. 

Thereupon something unexpected hap- 
pened. Lispy Lawson stepped before the club 
and made a little bow. 

“ Memberth of the Brockton Athletic 
Club,” said he, “ jutht to fill in the time while 
our captain ith making up hith mind, I will 
thow you how the parallel barth are uthed.” 
The boys broke into a loud laugh. 

“Go it, Lispy!” 

“ Can you skin the cat, Lispy? ” 

“Lispy the athlete! ” 

Without paying heed to the jeers, Lispy 
hung his hat on a peg, and made a leap for the 
bars. Over he went, as gracefully as a bird. 
Under and over he flew, feet in air, turning 
somersaults, winding in and out, twisting back- 
wards and forwards, balancing on one arm 
and in a trice on the other, walking on his 
hands with his body above, and whirling 


Ronald Thurher^ Gymnast 163 

through so many and so varied feats that the 
boys held their breath, and did not, until the 
very end, break out in applause. 

It was really a remarkable performance. 
The gymnasium attendants gathered to see it. 
The running track above became sprinkled 
with young men looking on. It was early 
afternoon and the building had few in it, but 
those few all seemed to be there. 

“ Aha, Lawson ! ” cried a fine-looking man 
in a gymnasium suit. “ You keep yourself in 
good condition still, I see. That was as well 
as you did last exhibition.” 

“ Thank you. Doctor,” said Lispy, stand- 
ing by the parallel bars, not a whit ruffled by 
his exertions. “ Boys, thith ith Dr. Martin, 
the gymnathium director. He can tell you all 
about the apparatuth, and he can perform 
wonderth on it, if he will.” 

“ No better than Lawson, here,” replied 
Dr. Martin. “ Lawson, boys, is the star 
athlete of this gymnasium. He has won in 
most of the annual contests since I have been 
here.” 

The Brockton Athletic Club, as one boy, 
looked at Captain Thurber. That crestfallen 


164 Look Alive! 

personage was trying to put himself in the 
background. 

“ Why,” said Jack Folsom, “ we thought 
that Ronald Thurber, here, was your crack 
performer.” 

“Who?” asked Dr. Martin, sharply. 

The boys pointed to Ronald, shrinking 
back. “ Why, he said he was.” 

“ No-n-no, I d-d-didn’t say ” Ronald 

began to protest. 

“Thurber? Thurber?” the doctor mused. 
“ Oh, I remember you now, Thurber. You 
were in the beginners’ class last year for a few 
weeks, weren’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” Ronald answered, sheepishly. 
He turned to go away; but the keen-eyed 
doctor, seeing how matters stood, pressed the 
point with one more question. 

“You have never done work on the appara- 
tus, I believe; only a little class work, eh? 
That’s all?” 

“ Yes, sir,” Ronald replied, in a faint voice. 

“ 0 -o-oh ! ” groaned the boys. Each ex- 
clamation was scarcely above the breath, but, 
all together, it sounded to Ronald like a tre- 
mendous outburst. 


Ronald ThurheVy Gymnast 165 

He looked up, angry and defiant. 

“ I don’t care I ” he said, “ I know more 
about it than any of you country boobies — 
except Lawson here, I suppose. I didn’t hap- 
pen to meet that distinguished individual 
before going to Brockton.” Here he made a 
sarcastic bow toward Lispy. “ But as he is 
such a great athlete, I resign my captaincy in 
his favor.” 

‘‘ Hurrah for Captain Lawson ! ” shouted 
Jack. 

But Lispy spoke up. “ No, Ronald, I don’t 
want to be captain. I want you to keep right 
on ath you are. You like to run thingth, and 
I don’t. I’ll be your lieutenant, if you pleath, 
but I won’t be captain.” 

The boys gave Lispy a hearty round of ap- 
plause, and Ronald had the good grace to 
join in. 

“ Well,” said Paul Brown, “ we can see 
about that kter. Anyway, Lispy’s the leader 
in this gymnasium.” 

And he certainly was. From one piece of 
apparatus to another he led the delighted 
boys, the pleased Dr. Martin following. 
Each piece was explained, how it was con- 


Look Alive! 


1 66 

structed, and what it was expected to do for 
the body of the athlete. Then followed, in 
each case, another remarkable exhibition, — on 
the trapeze, the rings, the ladders, with the 
striking bag, the Indian clubs, the dumbbells, 
— in fine, with the entire gymnasium outfit. 
It seemed certainly true, as Dr. Martin more 
than once asserted, that Lawson was “ the 
best all-round athlete in Columbus.” 

“ And to think,” muttered Jack Folsom, 
“ that we let him into the club so as to have 
some one to laugh at ! ” 

While they were making this interesting 
survey of the gymnasium it was to be noticed 
that Ronald kept himself in the background, 
and that he joined in the applause that greeted 
every one of Lispy’s performances. That was 
surely a good sign. 

Another good sign followed. When the 
rounds had been made it was after three 
o’clock, and time to start home, as all the 
boys agreed. 

“ We must keep the State-house for next 
time,” said Phil, turning to Ronald. “ That 
is, captain, if we walk home. Shall we walk 
home ? ” 


Ronald Thurber, Gymnast 167 

The boys all listened to hear what Ronald 
would say. 

“No, fellows,” he replied; “at least, / 
don’t propose to walk home. To tell the 
truth, I got all I wanted of It this morning. 
I don’t think I’m a very good walker, and I’d 
better work up to it gradually. Perhaps after 
practicing I can keep up with Lispy here.” 

That speech, it will be acknowledged, was 
the most sensible one that Captain Thurber 
had made. 

So it was decided that the ten miles to Co- 
lumbus would suffice for the first attempt, 
without adding the ten miles of return, and 
that they would take the five-o’clock train 
home. The change in plan gave them nearly 
two hours in the state-house, which the boys 
were glad to have. Here Ronald proved a 
useful leader, for he knew the great building 
thoroughly, had friends among the attend- 
ants, and was able to show the club many 
interesting things. All this he did with so 
little bombast that it argued well for his 
future career as captain of the Brockton 
Athletic Club. 

On the way to the railroad station, too, 


i68 


Look Alive! 


Ronald invited the boys into a restaurant, and 
ordered ice-cream, cake, and lemonade for the 
crowd, thus winning back all his popularity! 
He was frank in his admiration of Lispy, 
frank in admitting his own inferior powers as 
an athlete, and, in short, he bore himself so 
well on the return trip that the club, marching 
through the town to his gate, gave him a 
cordial three cheers as they dispersed. 

“ But hold on, fellows 1 ” cried Captain 
Thurber. “ Before you go, let’s give three 
cheers for the hero of the day, Lispy Lawson. 
Now, all together: Hip, hip, hoora-a-a-y 1 ” 

And he led the cheering himself. 























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